


Tell me to stop

by AirgiodSLV



Series: Tell me to stop [1]
Category: Bandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-01-15
Updated: 2008-01-15
Packaged: 2017-10-19 02:31:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 29,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/195866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AirgiodSLV/pseuds/AirgiodSLV
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>“You have no idea what you’re doing, okay?” Ryan says in exasperation, blowing out a huffy breath. “I’m just saying. I think…I might know a guy.”</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Tell me to stop

**Author's Note:**

> AU. For [](http://disarm-d.livejournal.com/profile)[**disarm_d**](http://disarm-d.livejournal.com/), who has been my inspiration, encouragement, and touchstone all the way from conception to finish. This story could not possibly exist without her. Thanks to [](http://bexone.livejournal.com/profile)[**bexone**](http://bexone.livejournal.com/) for looking it over, to [](http://maleyka.livejournal.com/profile)[**maleyka**](http://maleyka.livejournal.com/) for always being there, and to [](http://impasto.livejournal.com/profile)[**impasto**](http://impasto.livejournal.com/) for being the very best beta I could ever ask for.
> 
> Warnings: s/D and BDSM. Strong kink content.

Two weeks into the new school year, Spencer gets dumped. Again.

“Jesus Christ,” Ryan says when Spencer tells him, on their way through the drive-through at Dunkin’ Donuts for breakfast before Ryan drops Spencer off at work and heads to class. Their schedules have worked out this semester so they can share Ryan’s car – which is convenient, because Spencer just got dumped. Again. As Ryan says: “What is that, like, five in two months?”

“Two-and-a-half,” Spencer hedges, juggling bear claws and hot coffee, because Ryan only has one working cup holder. The other one had jammed and then broken completely when Spencer had tried to liberate it. Spencer swears Ryan’s car has a thing against him sometimes.

“You need to stop,” Ryan says, holding one hand out for Spencer to give him his coffee while they’re pulling up to the red light. “This isn’t healthy, you’re making yourself miserable.”

“What the fuck?” Spencer asks, taking the coffee back with ill-will and switching it out for his own in the cup holder. “This is my fault?”

“Brent was my friend too,” Ryan points out, holding his hand out again and gesturing impatiently when Spencer doesn’t immediately provide coffee. Spencer tries in vain to juggle the bear claws and finally just gives up and hands Ryan his. “It’s not like I don’t know what happened. You scare the shit out of everyone who gets close to you.” Ryan steals a gulp and makes a face. “What the fuck did you do to my coffee?”

“I don’t scare you,” Spencer grumps, maliciously breaking off a chunk of Ryan’s bear claw to pop into his mouth. He doesn’t bother explaining about the coffee, just switches the cups and gives Ryan the other one when they hit the next light.

“I’m not sleeping with you.” Ryan glances over, breaks a piece off of Spencer’s half-eaten bear claw and adds with a smug smile, “Besides, I have immunity.”

“Fucker.” It’s true, though. Ryan doesn’t bat an eye at anything Spencer does or tells him, and the jerks like Brent go running the first time Spencer pulls out handcuffs. “He said I was pushy.”

“You scared him,” Ryan translates. He glances over again, mostly hidden behind the designer shades, but Spencer knows how to read him.

“What?” he asks, and holds Ryan’s bear claw hostage until he relents.

“You have no idea what you’re doing, okay?” Ryan says in exasperation, blowing out a huffy breath. “I’m just saying. I think…I might know a guy.”

“No way,” Spencer says immediately. The last thing he wants is some pretentious fuck telling him how to handle his relationships and what to do in bed.

“Spence, you could at least talk to him. And give me my fucking coffee.” Ryan sounds as annoyed as he ever gets, but it’s the morning and he hasn’t even warmed up to the day yet, so Spencer knows it really isn’t all that bad.

He hands over the coffee anyway. “I don’t want some condescending know-it-all telling me how to run my life, Ryan, no.” If he didn’t have a lap full of donuts and two hands juggling coffee, he’d be crossing his arms right now, ending the discussion. He knows Ryan knows it, too, but he blatantly ignores Spencer’s glare and keeps talking, waving his coffee cup in Spencer’s direction again as the light turns green.

“He’s not like that. We had a class together two semesters ago, I’m pretty sure he TA’s it now. Or something in the department, anyway. I could get in touch with him, easy.”

Arguing is clearly not getting him anywhere, so Spencer tries reasoning. “How do you even know he’s into it?” he challenges. “He could be totally normal. What, are you just going to walk up to him and say hey, my friend’s kind of kinky and I think you might be a freak in the sack?”

“You’re not a freak, you fr-- fucktard,” Ryan says disparagingly. “I saw his wrists once, they had bruises all over them. When he caught me looking, he just winked. I’m pretty sure he didn’t bolt on the last person who pulled out handcuffs.”

That actually gives Spencer a moment’s pause. He hadn’t thought Ryan might actually know someone of the opposite persuasion, someone who might actually like the kinds of things Spencer was constantly thinking about doing. “Seriously?” he says finally.

“Yeah, seriously. Give me…wait, false alarm,” Ryan says as the light changes color again and he hastily hands his coffee cup back to Spencer.

They pull into the parking lot and around the back, where the employees park. Spencer is going to school part-time, same as Ryan, but the rest of the time he works for a tour bus company, renting out rides to church groups and senior citizens’ organizations taking day trips. It sucks, most of the time, but he’s good at scheduling and the old women in charge of the rentals tend to love him. It pays the bills.

Ryan chugs his coffee while they’re stationary, and Spencer wraps what’s left of his bear claw in one of the napkins to eat on his way up. “Five?” he confirms, and Ryan nods.

“So you’ll do it, then?” Ryan asks, and Spencer almost asks what he’s talking about before it clicks. It’s not like it’s been very far from his mind.

“No,” he says, and then, “maybe.” He scowls and climbs out of the car. “I can’t talk now, I have to work.”

“I’ll call you,” Ryan says, and Spencer just waves him off. He doesn’t know what good it would do, meeting someone anyway. The best they could do is tell Spencer what he already knows – he’s a kinky sadistic fuck.

He just got dumped yesterday, for the fifth time in two months. It’s not like he hasn’t already heard it.

***

It’s a testament to Ryan’s tenacity that Spencer ends up stirring his latte in a Starbucks the following Tuesday, waiting for someone named Brendon who Ryan swears up and down will be there, he’s probably just running late.

Spencer snaps his phone shut with a sigh, and that’s when he spots the guy weaving between tables, coffee in hand and zeroing in on Spencer.

He’s not sure what he’d expected, exactly; probably something more along the lines of a shy, meek science major type or a graceful, subservient boy with the body of a dancer. What he gets is a little guy with a shock of thick dark hair wearing a pink shirt and red glasses, bouncing up to his table with a huge grin.

“Hey,” the tiny guy says. “I’m Brendon. You must be Spencer.”

“Yeah.” He stands up to shake Brendon’s hand, and finds a surprisingly strong grip for someone who looks like he might blow over in a draught. Then again, he could say the same thing about Ryan. “How did you know?”

“Ross has pictures of you on his phone,” Brendon answers, pulling out a chair. Spencer hopes he’s talking about the one of him standing in front of the Bellagio fountains, and not the one of Spencer dressed for a Halloween party as Marilyn Monroe, which he knows Ryan keeps as potential blackmail material.

“Thanks for meeting me,” Spencer says. This feels awkward; he’s not exactly sure how he’s supposed to launch into a conversation that basically boils down to, ‘hey, so I hear you’re into kinky sex?’

Brendon doesn’t seem to be bothered by it, though. He bobs his head while gulping down some of his coffee, looking completely at ease. “Hey, no problem. I mean, it’s probably weirder for you, right?” His smile is replaced in an instant by curiosity as he leans forward to sniff at Spencer’s cup. “Is that the new fall blend?”

Spencer has to take a second to catch up, but it’s easy enough to answer, “Yes.” He pauses for another second, then pushes the cup towards Brendon slightly, feeling weird but not sure what he’s supposed to do in this situation. “Do you want to try it?”

Brendon beams at him, and wow, he has an amazing smile. “Thanks,” he says, sipping Spencer’s coffee and then pausing to consider before taking a longer drink. He licks his lips as he passes the cup back, and Spencer doesn’t think he got caught looking, but he’s not sure. “It’s good. Mine’s white chocolate, if you want to try. There’s some other stuff in it, cinnamon and things. Jon makes it.”

He waves in the direction of the counter, where a girl with a perky ponytail, a guy with dyed hair and piercings, and another guy with emo bangs and several days’ worth of stubble are chatting as they make drinks. Spencer watches for a few seconds, but none of them glance over and wave helpfully to identify themselves.

When he looks back, Brendon is studying him. There’s a little half-smile on his face, one that has Spencer itching to either bring it all the way out or smack it off. It’s a strange reaction, but Brendon just keeps looking at him, brown eyes full of bright interest. “Ross is a pretty shitty photographer,” he says finally. “He didn’t really do you justice.”

Spencer’s breath stutters a little before he gets control of it. “Thanks,” he says, unused to such naked compliments. In the spirit of fair play, he returns, “You’re not so bad yourself.”

Brendon smiles again, wide and delighted, and bats his cup back and forth between his hands. “So how did you want to do this?” he asks, head cocking to one side. “Ross says you’re still exploring, or figuring things out, or whatever. I’d love to hear it from you, I mean, but did you just want someone to talk to?”

Spencer isn’t sure that he heard that correctly. “What are you offering?” he asks carefully, before he can piss Brendon off by misinterpreting. “Are you saying you’d…?”

“With you?” Brendon grins, still looking at Spencer. “Yeah. It’s easier to learn by doing, anyway. If you’d rather not, though, that’s cool. It’s kind of a weird proposal.”

“Like fuckbuddies?” Spencer asks, surprised to find himself seriously considering the idea. He hasn’t done the casual sex thing that much, but then he’s also been switching boyfriends every few weeks. It can’t be that much different, and Brendon isn’t exactly unattractive.

“Kind of, yeah. I can help you with the basics, you can ask questions or whatever, try stuff out.” His foot hasn’t stopped jiggling throughout this entire conversation, red sneaker bouncing where it rests over his knee, but now he stills, looking serious. “This stuff can mess with your head sometimes, though. I don’t want you going into it blind.”

“No, it’s okay.” Spencer has experienced that often enough to know what it feels like. If Brendon knows what he’s doing, at least the only one with a messed-up head in this will be Spencer.

“So you want to do it?” Brendon asks, animated again. Spencer surprises himself by nodding, and is rewarded by another smile breaking over Brendon’s face. “Cool. Let me give you my number, and we can work something out…I have classes every morning and Tuesday and Thursday afternoons, but besides that I’m good. Oh, and orchestra Wednesday night, but that’s it. When’s good for you?”

“Maybe Friday?” Spencer suggests. It’s still slightly surreal, but hopefully that will give him enough time to wrap his head around this before they actually do anything. “I have work until five, I can be home by six.”

“That’s cool,” Brendon agrees, tapping it into a PDA produced from one of his tiny pockets. “Is your place all right? Do you mind? I have a roommate, and he’s awesome, but I don’t really want to push him more than I already do, you know?”

“No, that’s fine,” Spencer agrees hastily. The idea of anyone listening in while he has sex is enough to make him cringe inside, and he thinks he’ll feel more comfortable in his own apartment. “Do you want the address?”

“Yeah, oh, and give me your e-mail, too.” Brendon looks up from the screen and grins again, knee jiggling against the table leg. “I can send you links and stuff. So, six?”

“Six sounds good,” Spencer confirms, making a mental note to write it down on the calendar when he gets home. Not that he’s likely to forget.

“Great,” Brendon says cheerfully, snapping the PDA closed. “It’s a date. Or a playdate, anyway. I’ll come over then.”

Spencer feels humiliatingly awkward asking about payment, but this is kind of like tutoring, in a way, and he doesn’t want the issue to come up later, at a less convenient time. “Um,” he tries, gritting his teeth and looking for a way to make this sound like he’s not suggesting Brendon is a prostitute. “Do you need any…compensation? For expenses, or gas, or anything?”

To his relief, Brendon just laughs, lips twisting in amusement and eyes bright. “You can feed me sometimes if you want,” he offers, “but I’m going to be getting a lot of great sex out of the deal, so.”

Spencer can’t seem to stop himself from asking, “How do you know it will be great sex?”

Brendon just winks at him. “I have a good sense about these things.”

***

Brendon arrives early on Friday, which is probably a good thing, because Spencer has worked himself into a state of nervous tension well before the buzzer sounds.

Spencer still has no idea how this is going to go, but he’s changed the sheets, stocked up on condoms and lube, and kept the handcuffs in the bedside table drawer just in case. Brendon doesn’t jump him the minute he walks through the door, though, just waves with the hand clutching a brown paper bag, a file folder in the other, and says, “Cool place. Do I get the tour?”

That could be innuendo, but Brendon seems to be content just poking around, cooing over Spencer’s sound system and CD collection, fascinated by the multi-color flashing night-light in the bathroom. When they reach the end of the very brief tour – it’s a small apartment – Brendon holds up the bag and says, “Mind if I set these out? One of my students works for Godiva. I get chocolate-covered strawberries about once a month.”

“No, please, be my guest,” Spencer offers, gesturing towards the kitchen table. Brendon pulls a box out of the bag and opens it up, taking a seat and the first strawberry before nudging the box towards Spencer. He accepts the offer, pulling out a chair for himself as he asks, “You have students?”

“I’m a TA for the school of music. It’s kind of cool, I get an assistantship and a handful of students every semester. Guitar mostly, but I fill in on piano for the local kids when one of the other grads has to miss a lesson.” Brendon bites the rest of the strawberry off and twirls the stem between his fingers. “You’re at school with Ross?”

“Part-time. Music business.” Spencer’s only half-paying attention, distracted by the sheet of paper Brendon pulls out of his folder and pushes across the table. “What’s this?”

“A kink list. Hard limits, preferences, just about everything under the sun is on there. Think of it as your first assignment, although it’s really for both us. We can see what matches up, what doesn’t. It’s a get-to-know-you.” Brendon grins as he says it, picking up a pencil and poising it over the paper. “Any questions?”

Spencer scans the paper, which is basically a questionnaire full of check-boxes marked ‘partner, self, both, neither’ and a list of items that range all the way from ‘oral sex’ to some he wouldn’t even say aloud. There are a few he’s never even heard of. “Why can’t we just talk about it?” he asks.

“This is more fun. And no cheating off my answers.” Brendon starts checking things, humming a little to himself and foot wagging under the table in rhythm, and Spencer hesitantly starts on the list, sneaking peeks at Brendon’s when he’s not sure what he should write.

The first time he’s genuinely horrified by something on the list, he glances at Brendon’s sheet and isn’t sure whether to be more horrified or just awed. “Golden showers?” he asks, staring disbelievingly where Brendon has checked, ‘not a turn-on, but will perform for partner’. “You would seriously let someone…?”

Brendon looks startled at being watched, but he shrugs it off. “Urine is sterile,” he reasons. “And if I’m in the tub or whatever, I could rinse right off. It wouldn’t be a big deal.”

He sounds utterly nonchalant, but Spencer can still see him smiling out of the corner of his eye when Spencer emphatically checks ‘ _no_.’

“Okay, switch,” Brendon orders when Spencer finishes, fingers wiggling. “I want to read.”

Spencer feels a lot more relaxed after he sees Brendon’s list. A lot of the stuff he’d checked he still felt guilty asking for or even suggesting by listing it as an interest, but there’s barely anything Brendon has marked a hard limit. He’s neutral for the most part, although there a few things that are not only checked ‘yes,’ but also starred and circled with little exclamation points next to them.

“Mercury?” Spencer asks when he gets to the line labeled ‘safeword.’ “Why that?”

He’s not sure, after he asks, whether that’s too personal a thing to share, but Brendon just shrugs a little, still reading and making ‘hmm’ noises under his breath as he goes. “I picked it a few years ago, after the singer. I didn’t want to take the chance I’d end up in bed with someone named Freddie, you know?”

He looks up and grins, quick and easy, and for the first time all day Spencer feels the knot of nerves in his stomach tug lower. Brendon’s not wearing the glasses today, but his hair is still sticking up in ridiculous tufts, and Spencer finds himself wondering how soft it would feel under his hands.

“You know what it means, right?” Brendon asks. “If I say ‘mercury,’ you stop. No matter what we’re doing, whatever else is going on, stop. And I’ll do the same for you.”

Spencer turns his pencil over in his fingers, tapping it lightly against the tabletop in an unconscious mirror of what Brendon’s foot is playing against the table leg. “Is there really any chance I’m going to use one?” he asks dubiously. “I mean, we should both be having fun, but I kind of thought you would be the one who’d actually need it.”

Brendon shrugs, his foot now tapping in a counter-rhythm, something light and fast that fills in the beats marked by Spencer’s pencil. “You never know,” he admits. “You might want to reverse roles one day, or want me to try something we’re not completely comfortable with, or you might just need it to snap me out of it sometime. If you can’t reach me any other way, that’s a good last resort.”

Spencer doesn’t respond for a second, taken a little aback by the idea that Brendon might be disoriented or uncomprehending enough to need Spencer to safeword him out of it. He’s never thought about it before, not beyond idle fantasies, and he’s not sure he’s all that comfortable with it.

Brendon seems to recognize the hesitation in his eyes, because he says reassuringly, “We won’t start there, don’t worry. I was thinking the way this could work is to get the mechanics out of the way first. You can tie me up hit me or whatever you want to try, and then once we’re both cool with that I’ll start subbing for you, so you can see how it feels.” He stops moving, one of those instant shifts into stillness that Spencer is never quite prepared for. “Does that work for you?”

Spencer hesitates, but answers slowly, “I’m pretty sure I know how it feels.” He hasn’t had someone respond in exactly what he feels is the right way, maybe, but he knows how it should be. There’s a part of him the clamors and growls every time whoever he’s sleeping with doesn’t react the way his gut tells him they should.

Brendon doesn’t bat an eyelash. “It’s how I’d like to do it,” he says with a tiny shrug. “I’d feel safer that way.”

Safety, Spencer is pretty sure, comes high on that list of things Brendon is hoping to drill into him. “Okay,” he agrees, and picks up Brendon’s list. “Shall we compare notes?”

***

The next time Brendon comes over, they talk for twenty minutes about Spencer’s economy class before Brendon says, so casually that Spencer is almost sure he’s misheard, “I think you should take me to bed now.”

Spencer spends two tenths of a second staring at Brendon’s mouth before he drags his eyes up and says evenly, “What, no leather and handcuffs?”

Brendon laughs, pushing his hips off the counter and invading Spencer’s space until Spencer can feel the heat of his body through two layers of clothing. “I was thinking we should probably get the nervous first-time fucking out of the way first,” he suggests, and Spencer’s breath hisses in, sharp enough to bite. “Then you can handcuff all you want.”

Some part of Spencer is still saying _assert, assert_ , even though logically, he knows that Brendon is probably going to let him have control. It doesn’t stop him from shifting his weight forward, backing Brendon up until he hits the counter again, crowded between Spencer’s hips and the countertop. Brendon is letting him, he can tell by the smile hidden behind Brendon’s eyes and at the corners of his mouth, but Spencer ignores that and stays focused, leaning forward with his hands on the counter to keep Brendon trapped with nowhere to go.

“Who’s nervous?” he asks, and when Brendon’s chin comes up, just that defiant fraction, Spencer kisses him.

Brendon kisses like he’s giving away his soul, hot and wet and messy, not holding back. Spencer wavers between taking everything he can get and easing him back, coaxing with gentle licks until Brendon settles, and catching Brendon’s swollen lower lip between his teeth.

When he pulls back, he can still see the marks, white indentations against flushed red. It makes Spencer want to kiss him again, dig his teeth in deeper, but instead he says, “Bed.”

Getting undressed is never an especially sexy process, but there’s something ridiculously hot about the way Brendon nearly trips out of his clothes, toeing off his shoes and kicking them across the room to hit the wall with a low thump while still yanking his shirt off over his head.

His hair is ruffled when Spencer pulls him down, and it’s soft when he nuzzles it, rolling to pin Brendon underneath him and grind, just enough to tease.

He suspects Brendon is laughing at him a little, but Spencer has a weight advantage and something inside him with teeth that likes holding Brendon down. And if Brendon is laughing, he’s not doing it out loud, because he’s too busy lapping at Spencer’s mouth for more kisses and squirming, tiny controlled movements, like he’s testing to see how much slack Spencer will give him.

Spencer starts out leaving him no leverage at all and gradually eases up as he grinds down more, trading physical control for sexual until Brendon has more than enough room to move, but isn’t taking advantage because he’s gasping every time Spencer rolls his hips.

“I want your mouth,” Spencer murmurs, and wants to memorize the way Brendon shivers, curling up plaintively as if asking to be allowed. Spencer rolls onto his back and takes Brendon with him, kissing him for another long moment before letting go, his hand still threaded through Brendon’s thick hair.

“You can pull,” Brendon tells him, voice husky already, and Spencer is on the verge of a response when Brendon opens his mouth and just goes _down_ , all the way until Spencer can feel the tickle from brushing against the back of his throat, and the words in Spencer’s brain fizzle out, replaced only by _fuck._

For such a dramatic beginning, Brendon takes it surprisingly slow. He stays still for a few seconds, long enough for Spencer to start sweating, and then rises slowly up to suck just on the head before sinking all the way back down again and swallowing.

He stills again, and Spencer grits his teeth, fingers tightening almost unconsciously in Brendon’s hair. As soon as he does, Brendon moves, pushing back into his touch. Spencer catches his breath, pulls and watches Brendon slide up his cock, eyes locked on Spencer’s. As soon as he pushes, hand on the back of Brendon’s head gentle but firm, Brendon sinks down again and his eyes flutter closed.

Spencer swears silently, something like _Jesus fuck_ and _finally_ , and then he fists his hand harder in Brendon’s hair, guiding him with steady push-pulls that translate perfectly to Brendon’s mouth on his cock.

He gets rougher as he gets closer, yanking Brendon’s head back and thrusting his hips up just far enough that Brendon has to take him or choke, and it takes him a while to notice, through the haze of approaching orgasm, that Brendon is moaning not only from Spencer’s hand in his hair, but also his own hand rubbing desperately against his cock.

“Wait.” It’s out before he even thinks about it, a knee-jerk reaction to Brendon getting himself off.

Brendon freezes and looks up at him, saliva stretching and snapping between his mouth and Spencer’s cock, and then he licks his lips and grumbles, “Fucking tops.”

His voice is sex-burred and rasping, and Spencer barely gives him any warning before yanking his head down, back onto Spencer’s cock. Brendon’s eyes snap shut and he moans, going pliant while Spencer fucks his mouth and gasps until he comes down his throat.

Brendon’s eyelashes flutter when his eyes open, like they’re stuck together with glue, and the look in them has Spencer growling without even meaning to. “On your back,” he says, swimming up out of post-orgasmic bliss to settle himself between Brendon’s legs.

He doesn’t think they were supposed to start like this, that part of what Brendon had meant about saving the handcuffs for later also meant holding back the power plays, but Spencer can’t help himself and Brendon isn’t fighting.

“I want you to stroke yourself,” Spencer says, taking a brief pause to sink his teeth into the warm muscle of Brendon’s inner thigh. He smells salty like sweat and also tangy, a hint of fresh and sour on his skin. “Like you would to get yourself off. I want to watch, see how you do it.”

Brendon draws in a breath like he’s going to protest, or maybe toss out another sarcastic comment about Spencer being pushy, but instead he drops his hand to his cock, rubbing and squeezing a little before turning the massage into a long, full stroke.

It’s fascinating, watching him like this. Spencer sees the way his eyes rove behind closed lids, the way he catches his lip lightly between his teeth, the slow undulation of his body as he pulls on his cock. When he switches to massaging the base, adjusting his grip, Spencer leans in and licks between his fingers.

Brendon tightens up and groans softly behind his teeth, and Spencer breathes hot over his skin before licking again, following Brendon’s hand as he strokes upwards.

It only takes a minute or two after that, with Spencer’s tongue tracing slippery between Brendon’s fingers and Brendon’s hand gripping tight every time Spencer exhales over hot, damp skin, even when Spencer presses the flat of his tongue to the underside of Brendon’s cock to keep him from being able to fist himself all the way up. Brendon tenses up, and Spencer sees what he’s waiting for in the second before he lets go; all it takes is Spencer breathing, “Yeah,” and Brendon comes, head thrown back onto Spencer’s pillow.

They both take a minute after that, Brendon coming down and Spencer practically purring, smug as he licks Brendon’s come off of his fingers and smirks. Brendon finally cracks his eyes open, still breathing hard, and says, “Jesus Christ.”

Spencer thinks this may just have been the best idea Ryan has ever had.

***

“So you’re what, fucking him on a regular basis?” Ryan asks. Spencer can hear the frown in his voice, but this is no more self-destructive than going through boyfriends like tissue paper or whatever the fuck Ryan called it, so Spencer doesn’t feel all that guilty.

“Something like that. It’s not really hooking up, more like…shit, Ryan, I’ve gotta go.” Spencer tucks the phone under his ear and hits the button to buzz Brendon in. “He’s on his way up, I’ll call you later.”

“Eight-thirty tomorrow,” Ryan reminds him, and Spencer hangs up and jerks open the door just as Brendon knocks.

He has his arms full of rope and a t-shirt proclaiming, ‘My band makes indie look mainstream’ in warped gold lettering. “Bondage 101,” he says cheerfully on the way past, disappearing to dump his bundle on Spencer’s bed.

Spencer follows him to the bedroom, lounging in the doorway and turning his phone over in his hands. “I told you I had handcuffs,” he remarks.

Brendon just grins, sorting the rope into smaller coils. “You can’t learn how to tie knots with handcuffs,” he points out, wiggling one end of the rope in Spencer’s direction.

Spencer raises his eyebrows. “What makes you think I don’t already know how to tie knots?” he asks, voice already dropping, smoothing into a purr.

Brendon strips off his shirt, kicks off shoes and socks and shimmies out of his jeans. He spread-eagles on his back in the middle of Spencer’s bed, eyes sparkling. “So show me.”

Spencer studies him for a minute before tossing his phone onto the nightstand and kneeling between Brendon’s legs, deliberately close to his balls. He drags the first piece of rope over Brendon’s bare stomach, and watches the resulting wiggle and pleased hum.

Brendon doesn’t fight him at all, stays relaxed and lets Spencer fold his hands around the bars on the headboard. Spencer checks to make sure the rope isn’t too tight, working the tip of one finger in next to Brendon’s skinny wrist.

When he’s about to move to the posts at the foot of the bed, Brendon tugs on the knots holding his wrists and pipes up suddenly, “Will you be able to get me free in a hurry if I panic?” Spencer eyes him skeptically, but Brendon’s eyes widen with false sincerity as he deadpans, “I panic easily.”

Spencer rolls his eyes, but begins undoing the knots to start over. He is here to learn, after all, and Brendon seems to know what he’s doing.

It turns out that Spencer did not, in fact, tie the correct knot for this, and it takes him more than a minute to pick them apart. “The more I struggle, the tighter it will get,” Brendon tells him, head craned back to see what Spencer is doing. “Make sure it’s tight enough to hold me, but not enough to cut off my circulation, because god does that suck.”

Spencer considers for a minute and then uses a slip knot he knows he can release quickly and easily. Brendon watches him tie it, then jerks his hand backwards and down, fast, and pulls the whole thing apart.

“Oops,” he says unrepentantly, and hands Spencer the end of the rope.

Fifteen minutes later, Spencer has Brendon safely and securely trussed to the bedposts, hands and feet, held with knots that aren’t too tight, that Spencer can pull free but Brendon can’t undo accidentally, with just enough slack for Brendon to move with him when they start fucking, and to struggle a little bit without going anywhere. Spencer feels like he’s just run a marathon, and he’s stupidly proud of himself.

Brendon starts laughing. Spencer flushes, a little annoyed but mostly embarrassed, wondering what the fuck he’s done wrong this time. Brendon finally catches his breath, grins and says, “How are you going to get my boxers off?”

“Fuck,” Spencer says.

Brendon starts laughing again. “You could always say something like ‘I’m going to jerk you through them so you have a sticky reminder of me with you all night,’” he suggests cheekily. “But if you want my ass, I think we have a problem.”

Spencer sighs, and starts pulling apart the knots holding Brendon’s ankles. He sheds his own clothes once Brendon has wriggled helpful out of his boxers, and abandons knot-tying for a few minutes to reacquaint himself with Brendon’s mouth.

Brendon’s ankles cross automatically behind his thighs when they slide together, and Spencer thinks absently that he’d like to keep them there. “Can I try something?” he asks, stroking Brendon’s sides with his fingertips and enjoying the way Brendon’s breath catches.

“That’s what we’re here for,” Brendon returns, but the sharpness is gone from his ripostes, melted under Spencer’s hands. He doesn’t struggle when Spencer shifts around to bind his ankles together, just curves his body up to support Spencer as much as he can.

“Pinch anywhere?” Spencer asks, twisting back around, and Brendon shakes his head, heels settling along the curve of Spencer’s ass.

“You’d better have condoms and lube handy, though,” Brendon points out, already rocking lightly into the tilt of Spencer’s hips. “It’s going to be awkward to get out of this.”

“Drawer,” Spencer breathes, soaking up Brendon’s reactions to everything he does; mouth on his neck, sucking enough to bring blood to the surface, cock digging softly behind his balls, fingers dancing over his nipples. When Spencer pops the cap on the lube and works one finger into the tight space between Brendon’s legs, it gets even better; hectic flush spreading up his throat, shivers all the way along his body as Spencer rubs slowly in circles, warming him up, and then pushes in.

Brendon’s tight, but experienced enough to relax into it, working with Spencer’s rhythm. When he adds a second finger Brendon barely bats an eyelash, tilting his mouth up obediently for the kiss Spencer drops on his dry lips.

“More?” he asks, and Brendon shakes his head, eyes still half-closed and hips rocking steadily against Spencer’s hand.

“Two is fine. I like the stretch,” he says, with the slightest hint of a wicked grin, and Spencer pulls his fingers out to wipe them off and roll on a condom.

“Can I…?” he begins, and then rephrases, turning the question into a statement. “I want to gag you.”

“Okay,” Brendon agrees easily. Spencer can’t remember if that had been on his list of asterisked and circled turn-ons, but he doesn’t think so. Either way, he doesn’t seem to mind, until Spencer tries to slide a doubled-up piece of rope into his mouth and Brendon lifts his head suddenly, catching it under his chin.

“What is it?” Spencer asks, stilling immediately. The rope is soft enough, it won’t bite into Brendon’s skin and it shouldn’t cut his mouth, but he feels abruptly like he should have asked or checked first anyway.

Brendon shakes his head. “How am I going to safeword?” he asks, fingers flexing a little in their bonds, but distractedly, as if he doesn’t even realize he’s testing them. “I need some way to communicate with you.”

“You could…” Spencer is completely at a loss. Touching is out, as is pretty much any other physical signal. Whether he forbids it or not, there’s always a chance that Brendon could make noise without intending to, especially if Spencer does what he wants to and fucks him. Finally he admits defeat and shifts back. “I don’t have to gag you, we can…”

Brendon shakes his head again, heels twitching now as well against Spencer’s ass, tiny signs Spencer thinks could be impatience. “Keys. In my pocket, on the floor. Can you reach?”

It takes some creative wriggling, but Spencer finds them, emptying Brendon’s pockets until he comes up with a handful of jingling metal. He holds them up and Brendon smiles, eyes drifting closed.

“Put them in my hand,” he says, and Spencer turns one of his palms up, closing his fingers around them carefully. “If you hear me drop them, that’s it. I can hold onto them as long as I need to, otherwise.”

Spencer thinks, judging by how tight Brendon’s ass is with his legs tied at this angle, and the way they’re both already starting to breathe hard, that it won’t be all that long anyway. He gags Brendon with the rope and picks up where they left off, nudging his cock into the crease of Brendon’s ass, and shifts his weight forward onto his elbows as he pushes in.

Brendon groans low in his throat, biting down hard into the rope but not tensing up at all, even when Spencer is buried balls-deep inside him. Spencer stops to mouth his neck, finding that same spot that made Brendon twitch earlier, sucking leisurely while he rolls his hips forward and feels Brendon shudder.

He feels almost like he’s in a daze, slowly fucking Brendon until his fingers curl, dragging his weight over Brendon’s cock just often enough to keep him moaning softly. He sees the exact moment that Brendon forgets the ropes, tugging at the headboard in an unconscious effort to get free and touch.

“You’re amazing,” he murmurs, licking at the mark he’s left on Brendon’s throat, rolling his hips harder when Brendon chokes. He keeps going until he’s almost there, and then remembers the last time and grits out, voice tight with effort, “You can come.”

Brendon tilts his head back, arms straining, and somewhere in the build-up to Spencer’s orgasm he finally loses control, coming in wet spurts across their stomachs. Spencer bites his shoulder when he comes, hearing Brendon’s cry muffled behind the gag, and the sound surprises him into a tingling ripple of unexpected aftershocks.

He only gives himself a few seconds to breathe before starting to undo the knots, working at them with fingers turned clumsy and weak. “You can let go now,” he promises, coaxing Brendon’s fingers open around the keys so he can take them away and set them on the nightstand with his phone, returning to massage the tension out of Brendon’s palm, smoothing over the creases left by jagged metal edges.

“You’re good at this,” Brendon says offhandedly, eyes heavy-lidded and watching Spencer. He smiles when Spencer looks, rolls his neck around lazily and says, “I might not have to give you as much homework as I thought.”

Spencer’s surprised into a laugh. “You’re giving me homework?” he asks, leaving Brendon’s palm to rub gently at the red chafe marks around his wrists. “For what?”

“Well, I’m kind of like your TA,” Brendon points out thoughtfully, and some of the sparkle is back, Spencer can see it creeping into his eyes and replacing the dazed look. He grins then, almost sharp again, enough to make Spencer’s hands tighten automatically around his wrists. “This is just the kinkiest class ever.”

***

“Hey,” Spencer says on the ride home from work. “Can I borrow the car?”

“Sure,” Ryan says, but he glances sideways with a frown at Spencer’s fingers drumming a tattoo on his dashboard. “I was going to get groceries later, though. When did you want it?”

“I can pick them up for you, if you want,” Spencer offers, and hopes that it’s his own guilt causing him to read suspicion into Ryan’s expression. “I won’t be out long. Maybe an hour.”

“What were you going to do?” Ryan asks, pausing at the stop sign to check all of his mirrors in turn like the granny-driver he is. “I could just go with you.”

“Shopping,” Spencer says confidently. Ryan has been shopping with Spencer often enough to take that for the warning it is, and makes an appropriately bitchy face in response.

“For an hour?” Ryan asks doubtfully. Then he seems to mull it over, and adds, “I could go with you for an hour. We could get some dinner, too. It’s been a while since we’ve hung out.” His tone is an understated shade of reproachful, but Spencer doesn’t flinch.

“Why don’t I bring you dinner and we’ll hang out at your place?” he suggests, and knows immediately that he’s gone too far and Ryan is now onto him.

Ryan’s eyes narrow at him across the front seat. “Tell me what you’re really up to or I’m not giving you the almond skin cream I picked up for you this morning.”

Spencer snorts and goes for evasion instead of direct confrontation. “Only you would consider withholding beauty products an actual threat,” he points out.

“Stop deflecting,” Ryan tells him. “Where are you going that you don’t want me to come along?”

Spencer considers his options. Lying seems like a good one, but Ryan is like a truth-sniffing bloodhound and Spencer would have to make something up on the fly. He doesn’t have a chance.

Dragging his hand over his eyes, he admits, “I wanted to go check out a store downtown.”

The silence tells him Ryan still isn’t buying it. “So?” Ryan challenges finally, and Spencer sighs.

“A sex store,” he elaborates. “For…stuff. Adult stuff.”

When he peeks out from under his hand, Ryan is still looking at him, eyes narrowed and frowning. Spencer looks back and silently waits for whatever’s coming next.

“Okay,” Ryan says, and puts on his turn signal. When Spencer just stares, he adds, “I need condoms anyway.”

“Why?” Spencer asks suspiciously. He would know if Ryan were seeing anyone, and to the best of his knowledge, Ryan has no reason to be out buying condoms.

“It never hurts to be prepared,” Ryan replies blithely. “Did you still want to get dinner afterwards? I think there’s a Mexican place across the street.”

“Across the street from an adult toy store?” Spencer repeats dubiously. Ryan just shrugs, and pulls them into the parking lot.

It’s cleaner than Spencer had expected. The guy at the register doesn’t seem all that interested in them, so after the initial burst of terrified shame, Spencer manages to unfreeze his muscles and start walking towards one of the displays.

There’s a lot of what Spencer would expect to find in this kind of store, skin mags and dildos and flavored lubricants, but there’s other stuff as well. He’s not really looking for anything in particular, it’s just that after reading so many articles online and seeing pictures of toys (or, as some sites call them, _tools_ ), he’d felt like going out and exploring some for himself.

He’s running his fingers over a leather flogger when Ryan turns back up, condoms in hand. “That looks cool,” he comments, reaching out to take another flogger off the hook, this one made of finely tooled black leather with designs cut into the handle. “I think I like this one better, though.”

“I haven’t decided,” Spencer tells him, and moves on to examine the next. He tries to get a feel for each one, to imagine it in his hands, and on Brendon’s skin. There’s one in particular that just feels right in his hand, the weight solid without being heavy enough to make his muscles ache wielding it, the strands of leather soft and supple but wide enough to bruise more than sting. He wants to leave bruises.

When he finally makes up his mind to purchase it, he realizes that Ryan is still holding onto the black flogger with the finely-stitched handle. “You’re…” he starts, and isn’t sure whether he’s feeling more incredulous or horrified.

Ryan gives the flogger an experimental twitch, slapping it against his thigh. “I like it,” he says simply.

Spencer blinks. “But you don’t know how to use it,” he points out. At least he hopes not. If Ryan turns out to be secretly into floggers and paddles, Spencer might have a heart attack.

Ryan just shrugs. “You can teach me,” he says, and wanders off towards the bookshelves before Spencer can argue the point.

Spencer opens and closes his mouth a few times, and then moves on to the next display. By the time he’s finished shopping, he has a string of anal beads, the flogger, a set of wrist and ankle cuffs, and a mild-looking cock ring. He lingers over a leather collar, tracing the soft, supple material with his fingertips, and finally picks it up on impulse. He’s not sure exactly what to do with it yet, but he knows how to do research.

Ryan meets him at the checkout counter and looks over his selections with interest. “He lets you use that on him?” he asks when the cock ring is rung up, and Spencer just glares in a way that he hopes conveys _can we talk about this later?_

He gets distracted mid-glare by the book in Ryan’s hands. “Japanese rope bondage?” he asks in disbelief.

Ryan frowns and sets his purchases on the counter. “It looks cool,” he says, with the disgruntled undertone to his voice that means Spencer should probably drop this and change the subject, because Ryan is getting pissy. “I like the photography.”

Spencer bites his tongue and hands over his credit card.

***

Brendon spots the sheet draped over the nightstand and says, “Ooh, props.” He doesn’t look, though, doesn’t even try to sneak a peek as he strips down and stretches out on the bed, and Spencer is suddenly, stupidly glad that Brendon understands this, that he won’t have to deal with suspicion or pouting or a sulking fit when all he wants to do is keep things a surprise.

He pulls a silk scarf – one of Ryan’s, left over at Spencer’s apartment weeks ago, and Ryan is _never_ going to find out what it’s being used for – through his fingers, catches Brendon’s wrists together over his head and asks, “Okay?”

Brendon hums agreement, lets Spencer tie him with rope to the headboard, and doesn’t ask why he isn’t using the scarf. They trade kisses for a while once he’s secured, so Brendon can work through his customary routine of wriggling and settling, tugging at his bonds until he’s satisfied and comfortable. Once he’s relaxed, Spencer pauses with the scarf taut between his hands, takes a breath and says, “I want to blindfold you.”

“No,” Brendon says immediately.

Spencer blinks, a little taken aback. Brendon has let Spencer tie him up and fuck him, checked off ‘okay’ on things like anal plugs and whipping and breathplay, and he’s balking at a simple blindfold. “Why?” he asks, without even trying to keep the surprise from his tone.

Brendon shrugs. He looks completely in control still, even with his lips swollen and hair mussed and wrists tethered to the headboard. “I had a bad experience once,” he says, not making eye contact, which is something Brendon never avoids. “I just like being able to see what’s happening.”

The idea of someone hurting Brendon in any way makes the little hairs on Spencer’s arms prickle, and the air around him feels like it’s suddenly dropped temperature, chilling his skin. He leans in without thinking, mouths the bruise still slowly fading on Brendon’s throat and sucks, gently, swiping his tongue against it until Brendon makes a soft sound.

Spencer licks his way up to Brendon’s earlobe and bites, just the briefest pressure from his teeth before he’s sucking again, soothing, working his way over the ticklish spot behind Brendon’s left ear to the corner of his eye. Brendon’s lashes flutter when Spencer’s lips brush them, his breathing quick and shallow.

“What if I asked you to keep your eyes closed for me?” he asks, voice caught low in his chest, where it rumbles and growls and almost hurts, sometimes. He kisses Brendon’s eyelid shut, licks Brendon’s lips and does the same on the other side. “You could open them if you ever felt like you needed to see.” He works his way back to Brendon’s throat, pleased to note that Brendon hasn’t opened his eyes yet since Spencer kissed them shut, and sucks on the soft spots that make Brendon tremble. He breathes over the bruise, licking Brendon’s Adam’s apple, “But I’d like it if you kept them shut.”

He can’t breathe for the few seconds Brendon takes to think about it, nerves a fluttering clump in his throat. Finally Brendon says, “Yes,” and relief speeds straight into lust, makes Spencer suddenly impatient to have Brendon, now, while he’s acquiescent.

He still has the scarf in his hand, so he starts with that, trailing the fabric over Brendon’s nipples, rubbing it against his stomach and feeling the heat of his skin beneath Spencer’s hand. There’s still tension in Brendon’s body, mostly residual, but it melts away as Spencer touches him. The scarf whispers when he drags it lower, looping it around Brendon’s cock – Ryan will never get this scarf back, Spencer will just say he lost it and buy him another one – and pulling slowly until it slithers free.

Brendon shifts and murmurs, “Hope you weren’t planning on wearing that scarf again,” and Spencer doesn’t even think, just shifts the scarf to his other hand and slaps Brendon’s cock, hard enough to sting.

Brendon jerks, obviously surprised, but even though Spencer is holding his breath and swearing at himself for pushing without setting the rules in advance, Brendon doesn’t say anything, and his eyes don’t open. After a few seconds, Spencer is confident enough to wrap the scarf around Brendon’s cock and start sliding it up and down, slowly, listening to the whisper-hiss and watching the muscle tic in Brendon’s jaw every time Spencer squeezes.

He sets the scarf aside when Brendon seems to have relaxed again, pulls the sheet off of the nightstand and takes a second to consider before reaching into the bowl full of ice cubes. He’s relatively sure that Brendon can identify the sound, but he still jumps when Spencer drags the first cube down his sternum, all the way from his collarbone to his navel.

Spencer follows it immediately with his tongue, chasing cold with hot and licking up the water left behind, tasting the first prickles of sweat along with the melted ice. Brendon’s breath hitches when Spencer drags the ice over his nipple, and when Spencer’s mouth covers the same spot, sucking and licking, he moans.

The ice is getting slippery in Spencer’s hand, melting fast on Brendon’s skin, so he draws it slowly down Brendon’s torso, letting the rest melt. He feels Brendon inhale shakily before he hears, “That had better not be going anywhere near my cock.”

This time Spencer hesitates, but Brendon shakes his head, eyes still closed. “Do it,” he says, breathless. “I broke the rules. Keep it consistent or I won’t know what I can do, where the boundaries are.”

Spencer’s lips twitch a little, and he rests his hand lightly on Brendon’s cock, seeing the muscles in his thighs tense immediately in preparation for the sting. “Thanks for the pointers, professor,” he says dryly, rubbing his thumb in circles over Brendon’s navel as the last of the ice melts into it.

Brendon almost giggles, high-pitched and short. “The principles of BDSM are trust and respect for your partner…” he begins primly, and Spencer rolls his eyes even though Brendon can’t see him, smiles even though Brendon can feel it when Spencer kisses him.

“You can give me the speech later,” he says, biting Brendon’s lower lip, swallowing the resulting laugh.

“Shut the fuck up, I had a whole lecture planned,” Brendon replies, and this time Spencer does what Brendon told him to, slaps Brendon’s cock and feels his own twitch when Brendon moans and visibly forces himself to be still.

Spencer puts the next ice cube in his mouth, for just long enough that the ice chills his tongue, and then he takes it out and draws his tongue slowly up the underside of Brendon’s cock. The moan he gets in return makes him bold enough to do it again, and when he looks up, Brendon has his lower lip caught between his teeth, biting down hard enough to leave a mark.

He licks Brendon’s mouth to get him to relax again, parts Brendon’s lips with his tongue and passes the ice between their mouths. Brendon takes it without a murmur of complaint, holding the ice on his tongue to melt while Spencer reaches for his next prop.

He knows Brendon will recognize the next sound, but something makes him say aloud anyway, “I have a lighter. It’s not going anywhere near your skin, I’m using it to light a candle.” Brendon stays quiet and still, but not tense, relaxed when Spencer puts a hand over his rib cage and rubs gently, staying in touch.

He’s less sure about this part, but it’s checked off on Brendon’s list of things he’s willing to do, and he’d even sent Spencer an article on burnplay. It’s still a terrifying feeling to hold the candle over Brendon’s bare torso, to stroke Brendon’s skin and say, “Deep breath.”

It’s shorthand for _this is going to hurt,_ and he knows Brendon is ready for it by the way his body tightens, but the hiss that comes out when Spencer tilts the candle and spills hot wax onto his skin is still loud and startled. Spencer follows the wax the same way he had the ice, with his mouth sealing soft and wet over the burn.

The article had said that lighter colors hurt less, so Spencer had bought white, but the skin around the hardening wax is still flushed and angry. He licks until Brendon seems to have adjusted, and then murmurs, “Breathe,” and tips the candle again.

This time Brendon groans quietly, and his hips push off the bed, just enough for Spencer to feel it. He doesn’t rush, takes his time soothing the burn with his tongue and tilting the candle again until he’s covered most of Brendon’s torso, but when he’s finished with that, he blows the candle out and moves straight down to take Brendon in his mouth.

Brendon doesn’t last long at all, worked up from the ice and the wax and probably even the rope around his wrists, coming with a strangled cry when Spencer swallows around him. He’s putty in Spencer’s hands, even afterwards when Spencer licks him clean, his hips barely twitching at the stimulation.

Spencer almost doesn’t want to break the spell, but Brendon rolls easily when Spencer tugs his hair, nuzzling blindly until he finds Spencer’s cock and sucks him in. It takes Spencer longer, but he spends the time fascinated by the flutter of Brendon’s eyelashes as he sucks, his swollen lips and the glimpses of wax scattered across his chest.

When he comes, Brendon swallows it all and sucks him through it until Spencer pulls away, then settles against him with a contented sigh. Spencer kisses both of his eyelids again, the corners of his eyes, and says, “Thank you.”

It feel bizarrely ritualistic, but Brendon seems to understand, lets his eyes flutter open and smiles. Spencer smiles back, but his chest is tight, and he’s not sure why. He’s unsettled, discontent, when by all rights he should be melted into boneless bliss right now. They just had fantastic sex, Brendon did everything he asked, and he’s still restless.

It takes him a moment to realize that Brendon has squirmed around so that he’s lying with his head in Spencer’s lap. Spencer thinks, absurdly, that he’s waiting to be petted. He runs his fingers through Brendon’s hair experimentally and Brendon sighs, squirming a little without moving away, so Spencer does it again. It’s soothing, and he’s slightly irked at Brendon because he doesn’t feel like being soothed, and he suspects that Brendon is doing this on purpose.

“We should clean you up,” he says finally, hand stilling in Brendon’s hair.

Brendon just nudges up into his touch, getting Spencer to start petting again almost automatically. “It can wait,” Brendon answers lightly. His eyes are closed against Spencer’s leg, lips curved up softly.

Spencer strokes him until the rumbling unhappiness eases a little, until he’s sorted his feelings out enough to say, “I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.”

That seems to be Brendon’s cue to roll over onto his back, looking up at him with solemn eyes. “You’re not doing anything,” he says seriously. “It’s my fault. I’m still not going under for you.”

Spencer doesn’t know what that means, exactly, but he thinks that Brendon did just fine, and he’s the one most likely screwing this up. “I don’t think that’s it,” he says slowly. He doesn’t want to say that maybe he’s just not good at this, that maybe Brendon can’t teach him after all, but right now it feels that way. He feels unsatisfied and itchy, like someone spilled sand over his skin.

“It is,” Brendon says, and he sounds so sure that it momentarily silences the whispering in Spencer’s head. Brendon’s hand comes up to cup his cheek, resting lightly on his skin. “Some part of you knows it. I’m driving you crazy.” His thumb strokes, so gently, over Spencer’s cheekbone.

Spencer leans down on impulse and kisses him, just the brush and press of their lips together before he pulls away again.

Brendon smiles a little and says, “Give me one more day. Then we’ll see how it goes, okay?”

Spencer still isn’t completely sure what he’s talking about, but he nods anyway.

***

“No, the Women’s Choral Society is booked for the 23rd,” Spencer says, searching his messenger bag, his drawers, the top of his dresser for the piece of paper he swears he remembers bringing home in his pocket last week. “I don’t think…no, it wasn’t on the master calendar, because they hadn’t confirmed, and we don’t finalize until they make the deposit…”

The buzzer goes off to announce that he has a visitor. He glances at the clock, jams his finger on the button to let Brendon in, then throws his door open wide and goes back to searching. “Shit, no,” he interrupts in response to his boss’ recitation of their bookings for the next week. “There was a band too, a local group, Death something. Death Metal, Death Vendetta, Death…”

Brendon appears in the doorway and leans against it, hands in his pockets and eyebrows raised in query. Spencer finds a scrap of paper that isn’t the one he’s looking for, scribbles _work crisis – computer crash lost all data_ and then while his boss is going through their e-mail’s deleted messages folder, adds, _I’m sorry. :-(_

Brendon waves him off, mouths, ‘it’s cool’ and hangs out until Spencer realizes that in addition to the deleted messages, they’ll probably have to go through all ten thousand sent messages, to make sure there isn’t anything in there they’ve missed.

“Death Rattle,” he comes up with finally. “On the 15th? 15th through the 17th? It might be longer. They didn’t come through e-mail, though, I think they called.”

Spencer finally gives up looking, runs a hand through his hair and tugs Brendon out behind him towards the living room. ‘Whatever you want,’ he mouths, gesturing at the cabinet full of video games. He doesn’t play a lot, but when Ryan comes over they sometimes…

Ryan. Spencer makes frantic hand motions and combines them with his best pleading look for Brendon’s phone. He punches in a text, still holding his own phone to his ear awkwardly with one shoulder – “No, if you press star-seven-seven it should retrieve messages deleted within the past ten days,” – and sends, _check your car paper w/dates –s_.

“No, it’s not on the menu, but you have to be in the menu to access it,” Spencer explains, as Brendon’s phone buzzes, _its cold outside whose phone is this?_

 _bdens phone work crisis I’ll call you later please?_ Spencer returns, and heads back to his room to keep looking.

Brendon’s phone starts ringing. Spencer swears, not out loud because his boss is still on the line, and turns around to toss Brendon’s phone across the room to him. Brendon looks at the screen, puzzled, and says, “Hello?”

“Try…no, no, that’s wrong, the group from St. Catherine’s canceled yesterday, I remember. They shouldn’t be on the list anymore,” Spencer says, right as Brendon says, “Ross?”

“Shit,” Spencer says, and then, “Sorry, sorry. No, yeah, I’m sure,” holding his hand out for Brendon to pass the phone back.

“You owe me,” Ryan says. “I’ve got, like, five dates on this page, do you want all of them?”

“Yes,” Spencer says immediately, and into the other ear, “Can you hold for just a minute? I have the Penworth dates.” He clicks his phone to hold and tells Ryan, “Shoot.”

“November eighteenth, twenty-seventh and twenty-eighth, December third and fifth,” Ryan recites. “There’s a little star beside the third.”

“I owe you so big,” Spencer tells him fervently, scribbling an asterisk next to the date in question. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” Ryan says, but there’s a frown in his voice that becomes clearer when he says, “Brendon is over?”

“I can’t talk, Ryan, I’ll call you back,” Spencer swears. “We can do lunch tomorrow.”

“I have class tomorrow. Spencer, I think we really need to talk about this.”

“Thursday,” Spencer promises, and hangs up. He doesn’t think Ryan will call Brendon back to give him a similar talk, but he holds on to the phone just to be sure. He takes his own off hold and says, “Right, still there? Okay, I have Penworth.”

Nearly an hour later, Spencer finally hangs up. He just sits for a minute, then wanders out to where Brendon is sitting cross-legged on his couch, shooting ninjas. Brendon doesn’t look up from the firefight when Spencer sits beside him, but he does say, “Crisis averted?”

Spencer wipes a hand over his face and says, “I think so, yeah. Sorry about that. Thanks for waiting.”

“No problem,” Brendon replies immediately. He puts his game on hold and asks, “You ready now?”

Spencer thinks about that for a while. It’s not that he doesn’t want to jump at the chance to get Brendon into bed, and he definitely isn’t going to walk away from it, but right now he isn’t exactly in the mood. He says, “You could probably kill some more ninjas first, if you wanted to. You’re almost at the next level.”

Brendon grins and unfreezes his game. He plays until he reaches the next level, and Spencer watches, unaware that his fingers are twitching until Brendon passes him the controller and says, “Your turn.”

Shooting ninjas perversely makes him feel a lot better. “Sorry,” he says again after a while. “I just get…stressed, sometimes.”

Brendon snorts, head bobbing along with Spencer’s game. “You don’t have to excuse it. _I_ of all people know what that’s like.”

Spencer cocks his head, not taking his eyes off of the screen. “Is that what it is for you?” he asks curiously. “Stress relief?”

“More like a release,” Brendon answers. Spencer gets to the end of the level and passes the controller back, taking a moment to stretch out his arms. Brendon punches the button to start and keeps talking, almost thoughtful. “I can let go, give up control for a while, shut my brain off and stop thinking. It gets me out of my head; I need that sometimes.” He bumps Spencer with his knee, asks, “What about you?”

Spencer shakes his head. “It’s not like that for me,” he says slowly. “It’s more like…it renews my sense of purpose. I guess it relieves stress too, because I’m usually relaxed after, but mostly it’s just…getting under someone’s skin.”

Brendon nods as if he understands. Maybe he does. “I can’t even imagine doing what you do, being what you are. Having that much responsibility for someone, being in control the whole time…knowing how far to push without breaking, being constantly careful and vigilant and knowing what your partner needs, every second, sensing when things change and interpreting their reactions and…” He laughs, shaking his head. “Man. I couldn’t do it.”

Spencer feels a little like his fingers have gone numb. “You scare me sometimes,” he admits, without looking over across the couch. “The things I want to do to you…I want to take you apart, find out what makes you tick just so I can be the one to put you together again. I want to know why you do everything and be the reason you do it. It’s not just you, I mean, but…you’re the first person I’ve been with who…”

Brendon takes pity on him, or maybe just hears the end of the sentence he doesn’t finish. “It’s scary for me, too,” he says. He’s not playing as hard now; the ninjas aren’t gaining a lot of ground, but they’re no longer being mowed down in a bloodbath. “When I’m under, I don’t want to say no anymore. I don’t even know that I _could_ say no. The right person could pull a knife and I’d beg them to slit my throat with it. That’s pretty fucking terrifying.”

Spencer forces the words past his lips. “That’s it,” he says, palms sweaty on his jeans, head full of things he never wants to tell Brendon he’s ever imagined. “That’s the scariest part. Worse than the things I want to do to you, worse than every single thing I fantasize about, is knowing I could do them to you.” He takes a deep breath, and says, “And you would let me.”

Brendon freezes the game. Spencer doesn’t look away from the screen until Brendon touches his cheek, turns his head until their eyes meet. “We have to trust each other, for this to work,” he points out. He searches Spencer’s eyes for a while, considering, then sets the controller on the couch beside him and says, “It’s time.”

***

No matter how many times he sees it, Spencer doesn’t ever get used to seeing Brendon stretched out naked on his bed. Brendon seems to be enjoying the view as well, gaze roaming over Spencer’s body as he pushes down his boxer-briefs and steps out of them.

His palms are still sweating, but he figures that it’s safest to start with what they’ve done before, and see where it takes them. He still doesn’t know exactly what Brendon thinks it’s time for, but he trusts Brendon. He’s sure of that much. He trusts him enough to follow where he leads.

He starts with kissing, because Brendon is kind of a slut for kissing, but they only last for a few seconds before Brendon sinks his teeth into Spencer’s lip. Spencer jerks back, licking his lip and tasting blood, seeing it smeared on Brendon’s mouth. Shock is replaced by the dark, growling control that Brendon always brings out in him, and Spencer warns, “Behave,” in a low voice before he even realizes he’s doing it.

Brendon smiles wider, and rakes his short nails down Spencer’s back. “Make me.”

Spencer can’t remember ever backing down from a challenge in his life, and he’s not making an exception for this one. “Turn over,” he snaps, and when Brendon just stretches indolently, he smacks his hip and physically flips him over. Brendon weighs nothing and Spencer works out; it’s not exactly a feat to manhandle him onto his knees.

He pins Brendon with his weight, relishes the shudder and growls into his ear, “Hold onto the headboard. Don’t let go or I will be very disappointed.” He doesn’t think it will be enough, with Brendon intent on pushing him, but there’s no struggle; Brendon’s hands stay locked around the bedposts when Spencer puts them there, his arms stretched out taut over his head.

Part of him wants to take Brendon and fuck him into submission, possibly dry, but the cooler, rational part of him is in control now. Spencer takes a minute to appreciate how good Brendon looks in this position, and then warms his ass up with the palm of his hand.

Brendon jumps, surprised, but Spencer doesn’t give him any time to recover. He’s never spanked anyone before, and his palm is stinging after the first few blows, but he’s fascinated by the way Brendon’s skin is slowly flushing red, and how still he is when Spencer had thought he’d be squirming and screaming bloody murder.

He stops when he can feel the heat radiating off of Brendon’s skin, parts his red cheeks and licks. Brendon is startled into a moan, and Spencer goes searching for more, licking and teasing until Brendon starts squirming back against him. Then he starts spanking again.

This time Brendon struggles. Not a lot, and his hands never leave the bedposts, but he twitches away from Spencer’s hands, gasping, “Fuck,” and Spencer smacks him until he stops fighting and starts whimpering, and then he goes back to rimming, tongue slowly circling and sliding inside.

He’s keeping Brendon spread wide, and can feel how hot the skin is, still bright red with marks from his hands. Brendon mewls when Spencer squeezes, muscles clenching helplessly, and Spencer calls on some untapped reserve of patience to keep from giving in and fucking him the next time Brendon moans. He fucks Brendon with his tongue, dirty-slow and thorough, and when Brendon finally gives in and pushes back with a shudder, Spencer has to take a deep breath before he can pull away to lay the next blow.

He’s lost all sense of how long it’s been by the time Brendon finally stops fighting, stops begging, stops doing anything but lying still and letting Spencer do what he wants with him. He’s still shuddering, but besides that he’s relaxed and open in Spencer’s hands, unresisting. When Spencer stops to roll on a condom he can hear Brendon panting, face pressed into the mattress, and has to squeeze the base of his cock when he lubes up to keep himself from coming.

Spencer lines up and sinks all the way in on the first thrust. Brendon’s breath hitches, but he doesn’t tense up, and when Spencer angles himself carefully and starts fucking him in earnest, he moans so low that it vibrates through his body into Spencer’s hands.

It takes Spencer a few minutes to put it together through the fog in his head, but eventually the noises Brendon is making resolve themselves into words, “Spencer Spencer Spencer,” chanted in breathless repetition, and no amount of restraint can keep Spencer from coming.

Brendon’s ass is still red and hot against his hips when Spencer catches his breath, and then he pulls out and flips Brendon over again, onto his back so that Spencer can get at his cock. Brendon’s arms twist because Spencer hasn’t told him to let go, and Spencer is about to tell him that he can when he looks into his eyes and finally understands what Brendon means by ‘going under.’

There’s no recognition in Brendon’s eyes; he’s completely checked out. Spencer has a single moment of terror before he realizes that if he freaks out, neither of them will be rational, and he can’t leave Brendon hanging like that. He murmurs something, nonsense, and then drops his head and starts mouthing Brendon’s cock.

He doesn’t tease long, because Brendon is still in a daze, and that sixth sense Spencer relies on so heavily is telling him that it’s not necessary for him to push any more than he already has. Brendon has given him what he wants, so Spencer gives back, bobbing his head and squeezing Brendon’s sore ass until he cries out and comes.

Spencer swallows, strokes Brendon through it and shifts up to gently pry his wrists loose. “Let go, that’s it,” he murmurs, and Brendon curls against him with a sigh, boneless and pliant. He’s still not there yet, and Spencer thinks he should have asked Brendon about this before they did it, about how to bring him back from wherever he’s gone once it’s all over, but for now all he can do is wait. He combs his fingers through Brendon’s hair, listening to his breathing, and when their sweat starts cooling he tosses a corner of the blanket over Brendon to keep him warm.

After a while, Brendon stretches a little, and when Spencer glances down he’s almost weak with relief at seeing that awareness has returned to his eyes. He doesn’t know what makes him speak up, but he follows the impulse and asks, “How are you?”

Brendon smiles and answers, “Really, really good.” He licks his lips, looking a lot like a satisfied cat, and then laughs. “Do you really need to ask that question?”

Spencer flushes a little, but shrugs it off. “I just felt like I should ask.”

“Mmm. Oh, debriefing.” Brendon rolls further onto his stomach, one arm still thrown possessively over Spencer’s chest. He looks up in time to catch Spencer’s frown, and clarifies, “Asking about what we did, how it felt. Checking in while the memories are fresh.” He pauses for a moment, head cocked sideways, and asks, “How are _you_?”

Spencer has to think about that one for a few minutes. “Freaked,” is what he finally ends up with. There’s more, though, especially with Brendon looking up at him like that, solemn-eyed and mellow. He cracks a smile, watches one bloom on Brendon’s face as well, and adds, “Really, really good too.”

***

“It’s open,” Spencer calls when Brendon knocks. He has three pots bubbling all at once, and he doesn’t want to risk one of them boiling over while he goes to get the door.

When he glances over, Brendon has poked his head around the door and is eyeing the kitchen with interest. “Something smells good,” he proclaims, coming over to lean on the counter.

Spencer blows out a breath and wipes his hands off on the dishtowel. “Yeah, well,” he says, turning around to face Brendon. “I seem to remember promising to feed you once in a while.”

He’s stupidly pleased by Brendon’s shocked expression, even if he is still a little nervous about the whole thing. “You’re making me dinner?” Brendon asks disbelievingly. His lips keep twitching, like he’s about to smile but not sure if he should. “I meant, like, get a pizza once in a while.” Spencer just shrugs, and Brendon laughs. “What is it?”

“Orrecchiette Puttanesca,” Spencer pronounces carefully, the way his grandmother used to say it. Brendon blinks, smile faltering, and Spencer rushes on, “Not exactly, though. I took out the anchovies, which is kind of what makes it puttanesca, I think, but you said you’re a vegetarian, right?”

Brendon nods. Spencer glances down at the sauce, which is little more than olives and lemon right now, without the tomatoes still bubbling on the stove, and offers weakly, “There’s vegetables too. If it sucks.”

Brendon tips back his head and laughs, and Spencer has to fight the urge to smack him over the head, but he’s smiling, too.

“It’s going to be a while still,” Spencer admits. He’d hoped the timing would work out better, but as it turns out there is a lot of preparation involved in cooking something that doesn’t just come from a box. “I can put on some music. Or you can, if you want to pick something.”

Brendon goes through Spencer’s CD collection with a lot of exclaiming and some sniggering laughter that means he’s probably unearthed Spencer’s Backstreet Boys albums. The first thing that comes out of the speakers is ABBA, and Spencer rolls his eyes and calls over, “No way, I’m not serving you pasta while you make fun of my taste in music.”

He has his back to the rest of the kitchen, so it’s a surprise when Brendon hooks his chin over Spencer’s shoulder, arms around his waist. “Relax,” he promises. “It’s on shuffle.”

“Don’t fuck up my sauce, Urie,” Spencer warns, and Brendon’s laugh puffs in his hair, tickling his ear before he backs off and perches on the counter.

Spencer pulls down two glasses, the nicest ones he has, and pulls down the bottle he’d picked up this afternoon. “Wine?” he asks, turning to show Brendon the label.

Brendon takes the bottle to examine it, but shakes his head. “Not if we’re going to play later,” he says regretfully. “It’s not safe to do it intoxicated.” He hands back the bottle apologetically. “It looks great, though. Thanks.”

Spencer hesitates, rolling the bottle over slowly in his hands. He’d planned this entire evening out, down to the dessert, and he’s loathe to be the reason Brendon can’t enjoy it. “What if I made you a deal?” he asks. “We have one glass, and we wait two hours. Dinner will probably take at least an hour, and then we can have dessert and hang out for a while. Would that be okay?”

Brendon cocks his head, considering for a long moment, and then picks up a glass and holds it out to Spencer with a smile. “Cheers.”

The wine isn’t the best he’s ever had, but it’s not bad at all, and Brendon likes it. He sips in between running to turn the stereo up for a song he likes and harassing Spencer about the sauce, demanding test-tastes every time Spencer can’t decide whether or not to add more pepper.

He has his fingers in the pasta next, and Spencer bats at him with the stirring spoon. “Don’t, stop it, you’ll ruin dinner,” he scolds, and Brendon sticks his tongue out before jumping up and yelling, “I love this song!”

Spencer gives him a look somewhere between tolerant and amused, but Brendon is already dancing, wine glass in one hand and swaying with the rhythm, humming along. “Don’t get all toppy with me, Spencer Smith,” he says smugly when Spencer shakes his head. “I have _wine._ ”

Brendon dances like a complete spazz, hips loose and arms in the air, but he’s relaxed and happy and doesn’t seem to care, so Spencer decides he doesn’t either. “Come on,” Brendon coaxes, wiggling his fingers at Spencer. “Dance with me.”

“The sauce,” Spencer protests half-heartedly, but Brendon takes his glass away and sets it on the counter, draining the last of his own and hooking his fingers through Spencer’s belt loops.

“These jeans are fantastic,” he comments, stroking the material with an interest that makes Spencer’s cock twitch in confusion. “I’m going shopping with you.”

“I’ll clear my calendar,” Spencer replies dryly. He’s only half-kidding; shopping for him is an all-day pursuit. He doubts that Brendon can keep up, but they can always try. He always loses Ryan a few hours in, usually the first time they pass a bookstore.

“You do that,” Brendon tells him cheerfully, followed by, “What’s happening to your sauce?”

“Shit,” Spencer says, spinning around, but it turns out nothing’s burning, it’s just reached an enthusiastic simmer. “I think we might be ready,” he admits, trying to think if there’s anything he’s forgotten.

Brendon presses up behind him while he dishes out the pasta, crooning, “We were made, we were made for each other,” along with the stereo, interrupting himself with little humming noises of agreement when Spencer holds up the spoon to offer him more sauce.

He has a good voice. He’s loose and relaxed, and they have dinner, and Spencer casts a look at Brendon’s empty wineglass and clears his throat. “Hey,” he offers, “would you like another glass?”

Brendon stops dancing, looking at him curiously with a little frown hovering over his brow. Spencer spreads his hands and says, “I don’t know, I was just thinking. If you wanted to skip tonight, we could.” He doesn’t get an answer right away, so he rushes on. “I mean, I know you came all the way out here, so I understand if you want…I mean, it’s cool. I just…either way. It’s up to you.”

Brendon tilts his head, studying him, and then breaks out one of those surprise grins that Spencer still hasn’t gotten used to. “Yeah, then, sure,” he agrees, taking the plate from Spencer. “That sounds great.”

Dinner is actually edible, a fact which leaves Spencer immensely relieved. They both go back for seconds, which Spencer knows from his mom is compliment enough to the cook. “Orrecchiette,” he says contemplatively, poking at the last piece on his plate. “I think they mean something really gross, like little ears. Eating little ears.”

Brendon is rolling the stem of his wine glass between his fingers when he coughs, ducking his head, and says, “You know puttanesca means whore’s pasta, right?”

Spencer stares. “Oh, shit.”

Brendon looks up at him and laughs a little, shrugging. “I figured you didn’t know. It’s kind of appropriate, anyway.”

“It’s not,” Spencer says immediately. “It’s really not. I’m…fuck, I’m so sorry.”

Brendon shrugs again, the smile more genuine this time. “What did you make me for dessert?” he asks, changing the subject with sly glee in his voice. “Is there a seven-layer mousse? Molten lava double fudge chocolate volcano cake?”

“Molten lava…” Spencer starts, and then shakes his head and grins. “Bakery section of the grocery store.”

“My favorite,” Brendon proclaims happily, and takes off towards the kitchen.

***

Dessert leads to more wine, which turns into talking for hours, which somehow ends up with Brendon sliding into Spencer’s lap and tilting his head back for a kiss.

Spencer goes with it, enjoying the familiar, easy curl of Brendon’s tongue around his. They’d finished off the bottle half an hour ago, and the alcohol is a warm, pleasant buzz under his skin. He feels flushed everywhere that Brendon touches him, a range that is expanding steadily as Brendon grows more bold.

“Hey,” he murmurs, nipping Brendon’s lip gently. “I thought we weren’t doing this.” If one glass of wine hadn’t been okay, half a bottle is out of the question. And Spencer is definitely feeling it.

Brendon’s hand slides under his shirt, rubbing over his nipple. “We’re not playing,” he counters, stealing heady, sucking kisses from Spencer’s lips, other hand tangled in his hair. “But there’s no rule against having tipsy vanilla sex, right?”

For answer, Spencer tips them back onto the couch and rubs his pelvis between Brendon’s legs, earning a groan. “Bed, bed,” Brendon chants, rubbing against him anyway, still tangled up in kissing. “Before I can’t walk straight.”

Spencer grumbles, “I can’t walk straight _now,_ ” but sits up so Brendon can squirm out from under him, giggling, and pull him up off the couch.

Getting undressed is a process. Spencer hasn’t had drunk sex in a while, but he definitely doesn’t remember it being this much fun. Brendon nearly gives him a black eye while yanking off his sock, and says, “Oops,” without a hint of repentance when he goes for the other one.

Spencer isn’t about to complain, though, especially when Brendon pushes him onto his back and goes down on him, mouth working strong and skilled over Spencer’s cock. Spencer watches the ceiling spin for a minute, then flips them over and turns the tables, licking a line up Brendon’s cock before taking the head into his mouth.

His technique probably leaves something to be desired, but he makes up for it with sloppy enthusiasm, and after only a minute Brendon wraps a leg around his back and groans, “Oh my god I’m keeping you forever.”

Spencer isn’t sure his jaw will last for that long, but it turns out not to matter, because Brendon starts tugging at him, hips still rolling automatically into Spencer’s mouth, saying, “I want, I want,” until Spencer finally gives in with a last reluctant lick.

Brendon shoves him back down again and straddles him, leaning over to fish a condom out of the box in the drawer. He strokes it onto Spencer and pops the cap on the lube, smearing it over his fingers, and then he reaches back, arching, and slides a finger up between his legs.

Brendon’s eyes have fluttered shut, his body riding his fingers in slow, undulating movements, and every time he adds a finger he lets out a soft, contented sigh. It’s the hottest thing Spencer has ever seen. He has no idea why he hasn’t made Brendon do this before. He’s going to make Brendon do this every single time, from now on, because his breath has gotten all erratic and he’s fucking himself on his fingers and Spencer thinks that it’s not outside the realm of possibility for him to come just from this.

Then Brendon shifts forward, lining himself up and sliding down, and Spencer thinks fuck that, he’s going to come just like this. He rolls his hips up when Brendon grinds down, hands on Brendon’s waist to help support his weight, and Brendon murmurs, “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” every time they slam together just right.

Brendon rides him until all the thoughts have dissolved into white static sparks in Spencer’s brain, and then he leans forward, panting, and strokes himself off while Spencer holds his hips and physically forces him down further onto Spencer’s cock, and then everything gets tight and hot and Spencer comes with a roar in his ears that doesn’t quite drown out the sound Brendon makes when he comes.

When Brendon rolls off of him, Spencer tries to get his head in enough order to ask about setting the alarm, but Brendon just pats his face clumsily and says, “Morning,” before rolling over and falling asleep.

***

Spencer holds out hope for as long as he can, but when five-thirty rolls around and he still hasn’t gotten anything done for his company management project that’s due the next day, he finally picks up the phone and calls Brendon.

What he gets is, “Jon Walker’s Escort Service, how may I help you?”

“Brendon?” is probably a stupid question, but he asks anyway.

He’d been ninety percent sure he recognized the voice, but the giggle on the other end gives it away. “I’m sorry, sir, he’s booked this evening. Would you like to schedule a later date?”

In spite of the stress of the project and the headache threatening his temples, Spencer finds himself smiling. “Maybe I’ll make an appointment with someone else,” he suggests.

Brendon makes a noise of polite disapproval. “I’d wait. He’s very in demand, he’s our most popular escort.”

Someone in the background – Jon Walker, Spencer assumes – yells, “I am not your pimp!”

“I’ll give you part of my fee, it works out well for both of us,” Brendon insists. “If you’re wearing that suit, you need a ho. People will ask!”

“I don’t pay you,” Spencer interrupts over Jon’s distant response. “You don’t have a fee to split up.”

“I’ll pay him in pizza,” Brendon explains. “The next time you order out, will you get enough that I can save some for Jon?” Spencer opens his mouth to reply, but is cut off by Brendon calling, “I’ll bring you pizza, Jon! Pizza is love!”

Spencer can’t make out Jon’s reply, but Brendon starts giggling again. “So what’s up?” he asks. “Were you calling to confirm my dinner order? Because I’m definitely in the mood for pizza.”

Pizza sounds delicious, actually. Spencer’s stomach growls at the thought. “Actually, I was calling to cancel,” he says slowly, feeling guilty about it even though Brendon’s the one doing him a favor by coming over. “I’m sorry, I have this huge project due, and I haven’t even started it yet. I’m probably going to be working on it for most of the night.”

“Hey no, that’s cool,” Brendon says immediately. “I have work too, we can totally take a night off. Will you survive on your own? Do Jon and I need to come over with food and caffeinated beverages?”

“I am not your pimp!” Jon yells again in the background, and Spencer cracks a smile as Brendon laughs.

“I think I’ll make it,” Spencer says. “Thanks, though.” If he really gets desperate, he’ll call Ryan. They’re experts at bailing each other out during all-nighters.

“No problem. You know I have orchestra tomorrow, right? So we’re on for Thursday?” Brendon sounds hopeful; Spencer’s not sure whether he’s reading into that or not, if it’s just Brendon’s usual bubbling enthusiasm.

“Yeah. Thursday sounds good.” Spencer hesitates, turning a pen over and over between his fingers, and finally says, “Hey, Brendon? Can I ask you something?”

“Shoot,” Brendon answers immediately. He sounds offhand, but Spencer knows that tone of voice means he has Brendon’s complete attention for as long as he needs it.

“I was wondering if…” It had seemed like a good idea in his head, but when he thinks about saying it out loud, it seems ridiculous. “Um. Never mind.”

“No, what?” There’s rustling noises through the phone, and the sound of a door closing; Spencer thinks Brendon probably just shut himself in his room. “Is there something you want me to do?”

If he just blurts it out, maybe it won’t sound so cheap-porn-mag. “Can you not touch yourself?” he gets out, and then winces, because it still sounds ridiculous. “Until I see you again, I mean?”

There’s a thoughtful pause on the other end of the line, and then Brendon asks slyly, “Are you going to make it worth my while?”

Spencer laughs, letting out some of the tension, and says honestly, “I hope so.”

Brendon actually clucks his tongue. “Not good enough, Smith,” he chastises. “You need to have a plan, and some confidence. I have a very skilled right hand.”

Spencer isn’t sure if Brendon’s pushing is intentional, but if it is, he falls right into the trap. “I want you worked up so you come fast,” he murmurs, voice dropping to a purr. “And then I can take my sweet time making you beg for the second one.”

He thinks he can almost hear Brendon blink. “Good enough.” Brendon clears his throat, and then says casually, “So I’ll see you on Thursday?”

“See you then,” Spencer promises, and they both hang up. Spencer looks at the tower of books sitting untouched on his desk, blows out a breath and gets to work.

***

Brendon sends Spencer a dozen e-mails with links to articles about different aspects of BDSM, and shows up at their next meeting date with a box full of sex toys.

“I thought you might want to play a little,” Brendon offers, setting the box on the bed and unfolding the lid. “Get a feel for some stuff. Most of this is mine, or guys left it at my apartment, which means it’s mine now. You can use any of it on me.”

Spencer picks through the box, recognizing some things and frowning at others. Brendon picks up what looks like a plastic ring with a hard-shelled half-cylinder attached, and turns it over to show Spencer the switch on the back. “Baby vibe,” Brendon explains, and buzzes like a beetle when he turns it on and tosses it over. It jitters in Spencer’s hand, dancing across his palm before he finds the switch and turns it back off.

He finds a similar switch on the base of the black plug and examines it thoughtfully, flipping it on to low to test the vibration. It shakes almost out of his hand when he pushes it up to high, and Brendon looks over at the noise to see what he’s playing with. “Lube it first,” Brendon advises. “Taking that thing dry is a bitch.”

Spencer quirks an eyebrow, silently inquiring whether Brendon knows from personal experience, but Brendon is no longer paying attention, busy stripping off his shirt and unbuttoning his jeans.

There are wrist cuffs in the box as well, black leather with laces, and Spencer doesn’t wait any longer to use them. Brendon holds out his wrists when Spencer reaches for them, lets Spencer ease him onto his back and secure him to the headboard. Spencer isn’t sure if the bondage is a turn-on for him, or Brendon, or both, but seeing Brendon laid out and immobilized always seems to send a signal to his cock that it’s time to play.

He lubes up the plug first, because he’s almost fascinated by it; the shape of it, the hard smooth surface, the flared and sculpted base. He warms Brendon up with one finger and then guides it in, soaking up every iota of reaction as it slowly sinks in. The bulb swells to a larger girth than Spencer’s cock at the widest point, so he works up to it, until Brendon groans low in his throat as Spencer pushes it all the way in.

He’d always thought of plugs as something you put in and left in, but now that he has one to experiment with, he spends several minutes just moving it around, in and out and in slow, focused circles. Brendon is breathing hard long before Spencer gets bored, and when he flips the switch on low, Brendon makes a sound like he’s almost swallowed his tongue.

Spencer flips it off again but leaves it there, already reaching for the next toy in the box. They aren’t the most vicious clamps he’s ever seen, but he still tests them on his fingers first, letting them bite into his skin and send stings of pain shooting through his nerves.

Brendon’s watching him almost lazily, eyes hooded and breathing back to normal. He inhales deeply when Spencer bends down to lick at his nipple, chasing it around with his tongue until it’s tightened into a wet point. He puts the clamp on gently, but Brendon still bites down hard on his lip, breath stalled in his chest. He hisses when Spencer finally lets it go all the way, and again when Spencer flicks it with a finger to see his reaction.

Spencer goes back to work with his tongue and snaps the other clamp on, a little faster this time because it makes Brendon jerk when he tries to stay in control. He plays with both of them for a while, flicking the clamps back and forth, and when he chases the skin and nerves caught in the grip of the metal, Brendon exhales and breathes, “Fuck.”

“How does it feel?” Spencer asks curiously. He flicks one of the clamps again and catches it in his fingers, tugs hard and watches Brendon bite his tongue.

“Hurts,” Brendon bites off finally, with the edge of a laugh in his voice. He takes a breath, shrugs and admits, “I’m not really into pain.” Spencer reaches to take the first clamp off, and Brendon adds, “Hey, no, leave it, I don’t mind.”

Spencer smiles and says, “I’m really into you enjoying it.” He squeezes the first clamp off and Brendon bites his lip, gasping as blood flows back in. Spencer rubs Brendon’s nipple with his thumb until he’s panting, and then takes off the other clamp as well and sucks the abused flesh into his mouth. Brendon squirms under him, making strangled noises in his throat that turn into moans when Spencer uses his teeth.

He hesitates over the pinwheel, but Brendon sees him holding it and murmurs, “Go ahead.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Spencer argues, but that’s a flat-out lie and they both know it, because most of the things Spencer wants to do to Brendon on a regular basis involve hurting him. He pushes up his sleeve and tests the pinwheel on his arm to see how it feels, and then pulls up his shirt to try it on the softer flesh of his belly, pressing in a little.

It doesn’t hurt much, but it doesn’t do a lot for him either. The effect on Brendon, when Spencer rolls it up his thigh, is somewhat more electric. “Endorphins,” Brendon gasps, muscles tensing every time Spencer presses and rolls. “They release when…you’ve already got me…oh, shit.”

Spencer rolls the pinwheel over Brendon’s taut stomach, down his sides and inside his elbows, hauling his legs up so Spencer can run it over his ass, around the thick base of the plug, until Brendon is squirming and moaning in ways that make Spencer want to say the hell with this. He’s about to pin Brendon to the bed and fuck him until they physically _can’t_ anymore.

He ties Brendon’s ankles to the bedposts to hold him still and switches to the fingertip vibrator then, trying out different things with it until he finds the sensitive areas that make Brendon strain against the cuffs and beg incoherently for release. When he presses it against the underside of Brendon’s cock, rubbing just beneath the head, Brendon tenses up like he’s going to come out of his skin.

“Too much?” Spencer asks. He flips the switch on the plug as well, and Brendon strangles a cry and shakes his head, almost thrumming from the stimulation.

“Yes,” he gasps suddenly, twisting helplessly against the cuffs. “Yes, yes, please.”

Spencer backs off, rubbing over Brendon’s perineum until he settles a little, still breathing hard but no longer quite so strung out. Spencer can see the glassy daze start to creep into his eyes, pulling him under. He gives Brendon a few more seconds to adjust, then goes back to teasing.

When he flips the plug’s vibrator up to high, Brendon starts struggling in earnest, and by the time Spencer drags the fingertip vibe back up to the head of his cock, he’s thrashing mindlessly without actually achieving anything, pulling desperately against his bonds.

“Brendon, do you remember your safeword?” Spencer asks, holding Brendon’s chin still for long enough to press a single chaste kiss to his lips. “Nod if you remember.”

Brendon nods frantically, jaw so tense Spencer thinks he might be physically biting through his tongue, and his hips buck helplessly as Spencer rubs the vibe in slow circles around the head of his cock. His chest is heaving, sweat breaking out all over his body while Spencer teases him with the fingertip and plays with the plug, drawing it slowly out to the tip before twisting it back in. He switches up the settings every few minutes, because Brendon jerks reflexively every time Spencer gives him a respite and then turns it back on high.

When Spencer thinks they’ve reached the point that Brendon might not physically be able to take any more, he kisses Brendon’s stomach and presses the vibe up hard under the head of his cock. “You can come now,” he says, and Brendon comes apart, moaning and shaking in his hands, twitching every time a spasm brings him back into contact with one of the vibrators.

Spencer turns them both off and slowly pulls the plug out as Brendon comes down, his cock pulsing with renewed enthusiasm at the sound Brendon makes when it leaves his body. He ignores it, settling beside Brendon to untie him, rubbing circulation back into his wrists with gentle hands.

“Tell me what you like,” Spencer says softly when Brendon seems like himself again. “I want to know how to reward you.” He rubs Brendon’s neck, massaging at a tight spot until the knot slowly works loose beneath his fingers.

Brendon makes a contented sound and tilts his head back a little. “This is good,” he promises, nuzzling at Spencer’s shoulder. Then he laughs softly and adds, “Or you can play with my hair. I’m kind of a whore for people playing with my hair.”

Spencer’s lips crook upwards slightly, and he moves the hand massaging Brendon’s neck up to feather fingers through his hair. “Yeah?” he asks, tugging slightly and smiling as Brendon purrs, leaning back into the touch. He combs damp strands back from Brendon’s face and asks, “What are you paying me with, then?”

Brendon grins up at him, eyes slitting open. “My fabulous ass,” he says, wriggling suggestively. Spencer reaches down and smacks it, and Brendon laughs until Spencer shuts him up with a kiss.

***

It’s the first hand and Spencer’s dealing, so Ryan sorts M&Ms – part of their long-honored poker night tradition, winner takes all – into two piles for them to use as betting chips.

“Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen…”

Ryan’s voice is completely monotone, and he sounds nothing like Brendon, really, but the carefully measured counting has Spencer thinking back to what Brendon had sounded like the last time he’d come over, when Spencer had spanked him and made Brendon keep the count. He’d done it so he would know when to stop, when Brendon had had enough, but it had just kept going, Brendon’s voice gasping and begging with nothing more than numbers.

He’d rushed the count a few times, like he’d wanted Spencer to give him more, until Spencer had spanked him hard in the middle of twenty-seven and Brendon’s voice had broken into a choked hiss. His hips hadn’t been able to stay still, twisting under Spencer’s hands, even though Spencer is sure it hadn’t been an attempt to get away.

“Spencer,” Ryan says, and Spencer jerks his head up.

“What?” he asks blankly. He has no idea what, if anything, Ryan just said to him. “Ready?”

Ryan looks suspicious, but he doesn’t say anything besides, “You forgot to burn.”

“Oh, sorry.” He ditches a card and refocuses his attention on the game, blocking out the insistent memory of Brendon vibrating under his hand when Spencer had finally smacked him hard, actually lifting him slightly from the force of the blow, and snapped, “Hold still.”

“Spencer,” Ryan says again.

There are two yellow M&Ms in the center of the table, so Spencer guesses it must be his turn to bet. He blinks at his cards, realizing he hasn’t even looked at them yet, and pushes a red M&M into the pot. “Raise.”

Ryan doesn’t react. After a moment, when Spencer is about to snipe at him, he finally says, “You could call him, you know.”

“Who?” Spencer asks, but he’s probably not ingenious enough about it, because Ryan just rolls his eyes.

“Raise,” Ryan says, sliding over more candy, and then, “Brendon. Do you want to?”

“No,” Spencer answers. He’s frowning, but it’s not Ryan’s fault. The problem is that he does want to. It’s not one of their usual nights, but he could call Brendon, invite him over, maybe hang out for a while and then tell him to strip off all of his clothes. Spencer is sure he left bruises on Brendon yesterday; he could map them out with his fingers, bite down and suck until Brendon gives in and whimpers.

Spencer snaps out of it to see that Ryan is still watching him. He looks distinctly skeptical.

“Okay, yes,” Spencer amends, shoving M&Ms into the pot without counting them, although he’s not sure it’s even his turn to bet. “But I’m not going to.”

“Call,” Ryan says. Spencer only had what was in the river anyway, so he tosses down his cards and Ryan sweeps up the pot.

It’s Ryan’s turn to deal, and Spencer doesn’t realize he’s drumming his fingers on the edge of the table until Ryan comments, “You’re kind of fucked up, aren’t you?”

Ryan is Spencer’s best friend, which is why Spencer doesn’t immediately tell him to fuck off. He bets first, and then says it. The fact that Brendon is still in his head, arching back into imaginary blows and panting, isn’t doing much to help his state of mind.

“Spencer,” Ryan says evenly. He waits until Spencer stops resolutely staring at his cards and looks back at him, and then frowns. “Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. You and Brendon.”

Spencer exhales, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “It’s fine,” he says. “Ryan, I swear. It’s fine.”

The thing is, though, Spencer used to be able to spend one evening, an entire week in fact, without ever thinking once about having someone come apart under his hands. And he’s knows it’s just because he has the option now, that Brendon is his own personal Pandora’s Box, but it’s still unsettling that he can’t enjoy a night of poker with his best friend because he’s daydreaming about what Brendon would look like if Spencer made him crawl across the apartment on his knees and then fucked him over the coffee table.

Ryan toys with his cards, and Spencer once again shoves Brendon resolutely out of his mind. They sit there in silence for a few minutes, and then Ryan asks, “Do you want to watch a movie instead?”

Watching a movie means paying attention to a plot, means images and dialogue and distraction for at least two hours. It means less room for Brendon to creep into his imagination and take over.

“Yeah,” Spencer says, shoving his cards across the table towards the deck. “Let’s do that.”

***

Spencer is having a very bad day.

Work had been a disaster; there had been a mix-up with dates which meant forty-five people were standing out in the parking lot waiting for a bus Spencer couldn’t give them. He’d been screamed at by the group’s representatives, and then again by his boss, and on top of that Ryan is pissed at him.

Spencer doesn’t even know what he’s done that Ryan could be angry about, unless it’s the fact that Spencer keeps turning down his offers to go see movies or have dinner, and it’s not Spencer’s fault that he already has plans with Brendon. If Ryan would give him more than one day of warning, maybe they’d be able to set a time to actually hang out together.

He gets a quiz back marked 2/10 because he hadn’t studied for it, makes a girl in his class cry when he critiques her paper, and on the way home he smashes into the bumper of the car in front of him, and with how aggressively he’d been driving, there had been no one to blame but himself.

By the time he gets back to his place, he doesn’t want to deal with it anymore. He doesn’t want to deal with _anyone._

Brendon shows up fifteen minutes later, which is just enough time for Spencer to burn the stir-fry he’d been making for dinner and set off the fucking smoke detector. His next-door neighbor starts helpfully banging on the wall immediately, just as Spencer yanks out the battery.

Spencer didn’t buzz him in, so someone else must have let him up, because Brendon knocks, bounces in as soon as Spencer opens the door, chattering away about how he’d seen this man in the park talking to pigeons but like, in their own language, and it sounded like they’d been talking back, which was really weird, right? and then he turns around, takes one look at Spencer and says, “Oh.”

Spencer doesn’t know what he looks like right now, but he could take a guess. He’s not in the mood to be gracious, though, so he says without a hint of color, “Oh?”

Brendon stays frozen for long enough that Spencer’s teeth start grinding, and then strips off his shirt fluidly, tossing it onto the couch and starting in on his pants. Spencer just stares at him for a few more seconds before managing tightly, “This probably isn’t a good day.”

Brendon has his eyes lowered, but they flicker up when he says, “You can use your hands if you want, or a belt. Nothing with metal studs, no buckle. Mine’s probably good, if you want it.” He pulls it through the loops, coiling it neatly and holding it out in offering.

Spencer is mostly shocked, but the anger and frustration are still seething just under his skin, ready to explode. He wants to punch something. He doesn’t want that something to be Brendon.

He pulls himself together enough, ignoring the way he’s gone hard at the idea, at the expanse of Brendon’s smooth pale back, to say, “You haven’t done anything wrong.”

Brendon shakes his head, and says quietly, “This isn’t punishment. Stay clear of my spine and layer the stripes, and try not to make the rhythm too erratic if you can help it. It hurts more when I don’t know what’s coming next.”

Spencer reaches out slowly and takes the belt. It feels alien in his hands, supple and strong, warm from Brendon’s body heat. He says, “What if I hurt you?”

Brendon kneels at his feet, graceful the way he only ever is like this, and kisses the belt in Spencer’s hands. He looks up and says, “I trust you.”

Spencer stays still, weighing the dangerous hot feeling in his stomach against Brendon naked, on his knees. Then he remembers that trust cuts both ways, and says, “Go get on the bed.”

Brendon stretched out and waiting is one of the most beautiful things Spencer has ever seen. He’s folded onto his knees, arms in front of him pulling his back taut, head lowered and breathing even. Spencer lets the belt fall open through his fingers, the jingle of the buckle loud in the quiet room, but Brendon’s breathing is still deep and even, relaxed.

Spencer takes a deep breath and lands the first blow.

Brendon tenses, but in the moment after the strap hits he exhales, settling in for the next. Spencer gives it to him, drawing his arm back and snapping it forward, leaving another red stripe slashing across Brendon’s fair skin.

He spaces the blows evenly the way Brendon told him, crosshatching and staying clear of the dangerous areas, mindful of how fast the marks fade before he adds another. He’s so tightly wound that it’s still cold fury at first, not at Brendon but he’s made himself the outlet, and Spencer pours all of his rage into tightly controlled blows.

Gradually that feeling fades, and he’s left with a strange sense of calm, his focus narrowed to Brendon’s naked back, the splashes of color on his skin. He runs out of places to hit and starts over, layering the blows on stripes he’s already laid, still tinged pink. Brendon makes a sound for the first time, a muffled cry of pain, and desire surges up so fast that Spencer is dizzy with it. Brendon is letting him do this, he trusts Spencer to take care of him, and that power is so heady it almost undoes him.

“Ask me for this,” he says, needing more contact, more feedback from Brendon to tell him when he’s about to push too far. Brendon inhales raggedly, and for a moment Spencer thinks he might have to clarify, but then he starts talking, low and desperate.

Spencer listens to the tone more than the words, “Please, please, I need you, I want this, I want more, I need, please,” and when Brendon’s voice goes raw from the pain he lashes out almost lazily, letting the belt curl with an angry snap around Brendon’s left side, and says, “Touch yourself, I want you to come. Keep talking.”

He sees Brendon shift, the curl of his spine when he wraps a hand around his cock and starts jerking himself off, shuddering in a mix of agony and relief. His voice is starting to wear thin, the “please, please,” breaking every time Spencer strikes him, but he still moans when he comes, his entire body pushing back into the strap.

Spencer lays one final stripe across his ass as he twitches helplessly through the aftershocks, harder than the rest, and then drops the belt on the floor. “Come here,” he says, and he’s almost surprised at how hoarse his voice sounds, rubbed raw like he’s been the one on the bed crying and begging.

Brendon moves immediately, kneeling up for him, his lips already pressed against Spencer’s crotch. Spencer tightens a hand in his hair and lets him do it, fingers clumsily fumbling the buckle and getting his pants open so that Brendon can take him in his mouth.

Brendon sucks like he’s desperate for it, but he goes almost eagerly lax when Spencer yanks his head back and starts fucking his mouth instead. It’s still with him, whatever it is, throbbing under his skin, pulsing into Brendon’s mouth. He closes his eyes and clenches his jaw, and hears Brendon whimper as he swallows.

Just like that, the tension drains out of him, leaving him shaking and spent. He drops his hand away from Brendon’s head, suddenly shocked at himself and a little ashamed for having done this, having _enjoyed_ it while Brendon had obviously been in pain. He still is, moving slowly and carefully, the line of his back tense and covered in angry red welts.

“Spencer,” Brendon says quietly, and Spencer starts to take a step back, to apologize and try to pull himself together, but Brendon won’t let him. “Spencer,” he says again, catching Spencer’s hands, holding onto him.

“I…” Spencer begins, but he has no idea what to say. Brendon doesn’t give him the chance anyway, rising from the bed with a wince, getting his clothes off and tugging him along towards the bathroom.

“It’s my turn now,” Brendon says when Spencer tries to pull away again, and herds him neatly into the tub. “Let me take care of you.” He gets in and rinses them both off, then turns the faucet on for the bathtub and plugs the drain. He rifles through Spencer’s bath caddy, talking almost to himself as he sorts through the bottles of conditioner and body lotion. “No, not that. Do you have any…? Ah, there we go.”

He pours bath salts into the steaming water, and somehow Spencer finds himself maneuvered into the tub with his back against the porcelain, Brendon settling between his legs, leaning carefully back against his chest.

Spencer feels like he should be fighting a little harder, but the hot water and the scented oils are leeching away every ounce of tension he has left, and after the way Brendon just went down on him, that isn’t much. His arm aches from wielding the strap, and he’s guessing it will hurt even more tomorrow morning, but mostly he just feels good, exhausted and relaxed.

Brendon doesn’t say anything while the tub fills, but after he turns the water off and they soak for a while, his thumb rubs gently at Spencer’s wrist and he asks quietly, “Feel better?”

Spencer mulls it over for a while, letting his hand drift across the surface of the water, leaving tiny ripples in its wake. “I should be taking care of you,” he says finally. He knows all about aftercare, both from his own instincts and what he and Brendon have talked about together, and he thinks he ought to be doing more than this.

Brendon just turns his head so that his cheek is pressed against Spencer’s chest and says, “I’ll let you rub ointment on my back later.” His hand finds Spencer’s under the water, laces their fingers together. “Right now we’re taking care of each other.”

***

“I got dinner,” Ryan says as Spencer climbs into the car, presenting him with a crinkled paper bag as proof. “Extra time on the way over.”

“Thanks,” Spencer says absently, claiming a few stray french fries while he fishes out one of the wrapped burgers. “Are you going to the library?”

“Yeah, I’ll meet you in the parking lot after class.” Ryan waits for a few beats and then adds, deceptively casual, “You have plans for tonight? I thought we could hang out.”

He knows what Ryan means, but it’s easy enough to avoid, even if it does make him feel guiltier. “Actually, I’m going to see a movie.” He clears his throat before adding, “With Brendon.”

Ryan glances over, frowning. “What, like a date?” he asks. Spencer can hear the doubt lacing the words, even without seeing Ryan’s expression.

He takes another handful of fries. “No, it’s just. There’s an independent theatre downtown playing all three of the original Romero trilogy, back to back. Brendon was getting tickets, he asked if I wanted to come along.”

Ryan doesn’t say anything for a minute, but the line of his mouth doesn’t change. “I didn’t know you liked horror movies,” he says finally, and Spencer looks away, down at his lap where the grease from the fries is slowly soaking through the paper bag.

“I don’t,” he admits. “It just sounded like fun. Brendon said he goes for the adrenaline rush, because being terrified is kind of like being intoxicated, without the hangover.” He’d waggled his eyebrows as he’d said it, and Spencer had flushed, remembering what Brendon had been like intoxicated.

Ryan waits at a stop light and slowly pulls around the corner. He’s stalling for time now, Spencer thinks, because they’re not spending a lot of time together outside this car anymore, and there’s a lot they haven’t talked about.

“This is more than a tying someone up thing, isn’t it?” Ryan asks. “You’re actually interested in him.”

Spencer’s throat suddenly feels dry. His fingers itch to reach for the oversized drink sitting in Ryan’s lone cup holder, but instead he says, “It’s not like that.”

“Isn’t it?” Ryan asks, and he’s perfectly neutral, no challenge in his tone, which annoys Spencer because now he’ll be a dick if he snaps. “He’s been over nearly every night for the past three weeks. I haven’t seen you in forever.”

“Look, Ryan,” Spencer says, only slightly desperate because he doesn’t know how to explain this to someone who’s outside of it all. “I don’t think I could do this with someone if I didn’t feel at least something for them. But that’s it. We’re not together, I’m not seeing him. This is the first time we’ve met up outside of my place.”

Ryan’s still frowning, but eventually he just shrugs and says, “Okay. As long as you know what you’re doing.”

“I do.” It’s a small stretch, but Spencer feels like he has this under control now, no more surprises or uncertainty. He waits a few seconds, and then asks, “Do you want to come? I can call and see if he can get another ticket.”

Ryan rolls his eyes, which is a relief because it means Spencer is forgiven. “No. Have fun on your _date_ ,” Ryan stresses, smirking like the little bitch he is. Spencer throws a french fry at him.

“I’ll call you when I get home, dad,” Spencer snipes, and Ryan jabs his sharp pointy elbow into Spencer’s side and says, “Give me my fucking burger, you freak.”

***

It takes Spencer twenty-five minutes to get dressed, and that’s just because he runs out of time. He almost calls Ryan twice, but then he knows he’d only get more grief, and Ryan would be suspicious about why he cared so much. Spencer doesn’t care, really. He just doesn’t usually spend a significant amount of time with Brendon while leaving his clothes _on._

His phone buzzes with a text - _your ride awaits_ \- and he settles on casual and classic, grabbing his keys on his way out the door. It takes him a few seconds to find Brendon’s car, but that’s because Brendon isn’t the one driving it.

“This is Jon,” Brendon informs him, twisting around from the front seat to talk to him while Spencer buckles in. “He’s my roommate. Jon, this is Spencer.”

“Hi, Spencer,” Jon says from the front seat, smile crinkling in the rear view mirror.

Spencer makes a brief effort at cordiality and waves vaguely. “Hey.” He recognizes Jon from somewhere, probably on campus. They may have had a lecture together once. “Are you coming to see the movies?”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Jon replies cheerfully. Spencer reminds himself _this is not a date_ and tries to make himself comfortable in the back seat.

Jon and Brendon are chattering away up front, skipping tracks on mix CDs to ones they both know, singing together and making ridiculous faces at each other. Brendon tries to include him, but the person in the back seat is always the one left out of conversations, so Spencer doesn’t make a lot of effort to engage him.

They find a parking space and head in, and it’s not like Spencer is under any illusions that Jon and Brendon are together, because the body language is all wrong for that, but they are very comfortable with each other. Jon is friendly, easygoing enough to let Brendon bounce off of – or on top – of him. They share that second language of people who know each other well enough to make plans and carry them out without it ever feeling awkward.

Brendon, surprisingly, seems to be the leader. He orders Jon around and then nags him about what he wants to do before rattling off more instructions without missing a beat. Jon seems completely used to it, and by the time they actually reach the front of the concessions line, he’s gotten Brendon to talk himself out and orders enough candy to feed an entire tribe of oompa-loompas.

“You’re my favorite,” Brendon declares as Jon sweeps up their stash of gummi worms and licorice, guiding them towards the theatre. Brendon wavers when it comes to choosing seats, and while Jon seems to be content enough to wait until he makes up his mind, Spencer doesn’t have the patience.

“Third row, right side,” he orders, one hand on the small of Brendon’s back to get him moving as a queue begins piling up behind them. Brendon seems startled, but he goes willingly enough, settling into a seat and holding out both hands for Jon to give him candy.

Brendon is in the middle, so luckily Spencer doesn’t have to make polite small talk while they wait for the movie to start. He nods along while Jon and Brendon play the movie trivia game up on the big screen, sipping his coke and occasionally glancing over at Brendon’s profile.

Brendon is wearing red glasses, the same ones Spencer remembers seeing on him the first time they met in the Starbucks, which he hasn’t seen since. After a few minutes Brendon catches him looking and makes a face. “What?”

“You haven’t worn these recently,” Spencer says, gesturing to Brendon’s glasses. “I’d forgotten you needed them.”

Brendon touches the frames like he’d forgotten as well, then shrugs it off. “The magic of contact lenses. I don’t wear them to your place; I’d just have to take them off once we started.”

Spencer nods, but it sticks in his head, the subtle differences between this Brendon and his, like they’re two different people. It makes him uncomfortable and a little hurt to think there are parts of Brendon he still isn’t allowed to see.

The movie starts, and before they’re even halfway through, Brendon is hiding behind his hands, peeking out through splayed fingers. Spencer glances over at Jon and sees him smiling, watching the film and sucking away on Brendon’s abandoned drink.

Somehow Spencer finds himself stroking the back of Brendon’s hand, where it had jumped onto the armrest during the last terrifying zombie interlude. Brendon is still hiding behind one hand, but he relaxes as Spencer rubs, gradually working the tension out of Brendon’s muscles.

By the time the movie ends and they reach the first intermission, Spencer is feeling a lot better. Brendon chatters the whole way out into the lobby, talking about his favorite parts and why the movie is a classic and how it’s really responsible for the entire genre, and Spencer and Jon nod along with him until they reach the concessions area and Jon interrupts, “Do you want another drink?”

“Red Bull?” Brendon asks hopefully, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he looks up at the menu.

“They probably won’t have it,” Jon replies apologetically. “I’ll ask, though. Second choice?”

“Coke,” Brendon decides, and some part of Spencer’s brain that’s still not entirely happy with the situation speaks up and says, “I thought you weren’t drinking caffeine after eight anymore, because you can’t sleep.”

Brendon freezes, caught out. Jon frowns, probably at the disapproval in Spencer’s tone that he can’t quite keep back. “We’re staying out late tonight, though,” Brendon tries hesitantly. “I could push it back a few hours.”

Spencer hates that he’s annoyed by something this stupid, and the sharpness in his tone is half-directed at himself when he snaps, “Fine. It’s your insomnia.”

Brendon is still vibrating with indecision, but the look Jon levels at Spencer is unquestionably a warning. “I’ll get you a coke,” Jon says, as if he has the right to make decisions when no one else does, and Spencer is pissed enough that he turns around without a word and walks away to find the restroom.

By the time he returns, they’re flashing the lights for the second film and Brendon and Jon have settled back in their seats. Brendon ducks his head when Spencer sits next to him, but when the lights start to go dark a few minutes later, he silently holds out a box of Junior Mints.

It’s a peace offering, even though Brendon doesn’t need to be making one, so Spencer shakes out a few mints and passes the box back. Brendon catches his eyes and smiles, a little hesitant. When the movie starts he keeps his hands carefully in his lap, hunched down as if the zombies won’t be able to get him if he doesn’t draw attention to himself.

Spencer reaches out without thinking and rubs the back of Brendon’s neck. When he loosens up a little, Spencer goes the rest of the way and starts playing with Brendon’s hair, gently, letting the strands fall through his fingers before combing them back into place.

By the time they reach the second intermission, Brendon is nearly putty in his hands. The lights come up and Spencer moves his hand away casually, watching Brendon blink in confusion.

“Popcorn break, up,” Jon says, and they all troop back into the lobby. Spencer wants to kiss Brendon, badly, and the next look he sends Brendon’s way shows exactly how much.

He sees Brendon tremble, and then take a half-step back, behind Jon. It’s such a strange response that Spencer isn’t sure how to react, and fumbles for a second before making another try. “I’m going to the restroom,” he says casually, and keeps his expression impassive while his eyes on Brendon’s say, _want to suck you off in a stall, fuck you against a wall, bite you until you scream,_ and the way Brendon struggles to breathe means he understands.

Instead of following, though, Brendon stays behind Jon, and even reaches out a hand to tuck into Jon’s back pocket. Jon glances between them, just for a moment, and then says unexpectedly, “I’ll come too.” He squeezes Brendon’s wrist, adding lightly, “Popcorn? Extra butter?” before he moves away.

He knows it’s coming, but that doesn’t make Spencer any happier when Jon corners him outside the restroom right after he throws his towel away, blocking him from going back to the lobby. “Back off,” Jon says, without any preamble. His tone is still reasonably warm; a friendly warning.

Spencer shifts his weight and crosses his arms. “I don’t think you have any right to tell me what to do,” he points out. Jon doesn’t have any hold over Brendon, either, which is the real reason Spencer is standing up to him now. If one of them is going to be looking out for him, it’s not going to be Jon.

“I know you guys have a deal or whatever,” Jon says, hands raised in surrender. “And believe it or not, I’m cool with that, even though it’s not my thing.” His voice hardens, just enough to make it clear he’s serious. “But this isn’t part of that, so leave him alone.”

“What do you think it is?” Spencer snaps back. “Should I be leaving the two of you alone, so you can have him all to yourself the way you want him?” He doesn’t think before he lashes out, and the incredulous look on Jon’s face makes him flush, angry and embarrassed.

“I have a girlfriend,” Jon says evenly. Then, “Is that what this is? You’re jealous?” He just blinks for a moment, and then laughs. Spencer curls his hands into fists, ready to take this outside if necessary, but Jon just claps him on the back. “He’s all yours,” he promises. “Unless you keep fucking with his head, in which case I’ll kick your ass.”

Spencer counts to ten and forces himself to release the tension. Then he says honestly, “I’m not trying to.”

Jon squeezes his arm and says sympathetically, “I know.”

***

When Jon pulls up in front of Spencer’s apartment, Brendon unbuckles his seatbelt. Spencer freezes with his hand on the door, and Jon doesn’t look too happy either, but Brendon just says, “You can give me a ride in the morning, right?”

The idea of Ryan dropping him off at work in the morning and then riding to school with Brendon in the car ties a knot in Spencer’s stomach, but he just clears his throat and says, “Yeah, sure.”

Brendon leans over and kisses Jon on the cheek, a smacking exclamation of affection that does nothing to alleviate the expression on Jon’s face. “See you tomorrow,” Brendon promises. He gets out of the car, and Spencer has no choice but to thank Jon hastily for the ride and follow.

Neither of them say anything until they reach the door, and then Spencer begins carefully, “Maybe tonight isn’t…”

Jon’s warning is still clear in his mind, but Brendon cuts him off and pushes the door shut behind them with his palm flat against the wood. “No,” he says firmly. “You started this, you’re fucking finishing it.”

Spencer hesitates, not moving from where they’ve squared off beside the front door. “I didn’t mean to jerk you around earlier,” he tries.

Brendon just shakes his head. “This isn’t something that can be only on your terms. If one of us isn’t in a good place, then fine. But you don’t fucking start putting me under and then leave me hanging. I can’t…I don’t know how to react to that. If you go there, you have to mean it, whether you’re still in the mood later or not.”

It’s on the tip of Spencer’s tongue to tell Brendon that Spencer was backing off for _him,_ that maybe he should give Spencer some fucking credit and quit it with the lecturing already, but when his hand smacks against the door next to Brendon’s head, Brendon’s chin comes up, and the tension between them suddenly changes completely.

Brendon is several inches shorter than Spencer, enough that he has to look up when they’re this close, but right now he’s bristling with energy, his presence a great deal larger than his height allows for. Spencer can still lean in, trap him against the door in what has to be an intimidating position, but when Spencer reaches out to trace the line of his cheekbone, Brendon doesn’t flinch.

“Fine,” Spencer agrees, and he can hear the way his voice has dropped, almost purring next to Brendon’s ear. He wraps his hands around both of Brendon’s wrists, raises them over his head against the door and holds them there.

Brendon’s mouth is reluctant at first, not resisting but not giving him anything either, making him work for every single fraction of an inch. Spencer coaxes until he has Brendon’s tongue in his mouth, and then he adjusts his grip so that both of Brendon’s wrists are pinned together in one hand, and slides his other hand down over Brendon’s belt.

Brendon tries to bite, almost instinctively, but Spencer just keeps kissing him, rubbing his fingers against the fabric covering Brendon’s crotch until he finally moans and spreads his legs a little. Then it’s a rush for Spencer to get his pants off, yanking impatiently at buckles and buttons until he can get his hand in and closed tight around Brendon’s cock.

The first strokes are dry, which has Brendon trying to climb the wall backwards to get away from him, but Spencer presses harder and bites his lip, holding on with his teeth until Brendon whimpers and settles, at least enough that Spencer can jerk him off without Brendon fighting his grip. “Don’t come,” he breathes, soft but still a threat, and then doubles the speed of his strokes.

Brendon is up on his toes now, futilely tilting his hips into every stroke, and Spencer is swallowing every helpless moan, licking whimpers from the corners of his mouth. “I can’t,” Brendon gasps suddenly, stretched taut under Spencer’s hands. “Spencer, Spencer, I can’t…”

Spencer slows down just enough to give him a respite, evaluates the strung tension in Brendon’s body and how fast he’s breathing, and kisses his lips lightly. “Yes, you can,” he murmurs, and speeds up again, twisting hard when Brendon kicks back against him and turns his head to press his cheek against the door.

“No, no, I can’t, stop, I need…” Brendon gasps, voice catching and breaking on the words, and Spencer leans more of his weight into Brendon, licking the shell of his ear, asking, “What do you need?”

Brendon seems to understand then, or simply gives up and lets instinct take over, going lax in Spencer’s grip and begging, “Please, please.”

Spencer slows down, rewards good behavior with a chance to breathe, but he doesn’t stop, not even when Brendon’s heel drums hollow against the door and he bites his lip so hard it starts to bleed. “You can do this for me,” Spencer whispers, nuzzling kisses under Brendon’s jaw, over the lobe of his ear. “I know you can. You can take more.”

He doesn’t know what reserve of strength Brendon pulls from, but somehow he calms down, gradually, until his hips are almost lazily rolling up in time with Spencer’s strokes, muscles relaxed. Spencer’s arm is starting to ache, so he knows Brendon’s must be on fire, but there’s no sign of it. Brendon’s eyes have glazed, breathing even.

It’s so perfect that he almost doesn’t want it to end, but eventually, he knows, Brendon will either start blacking out on him or his body will act on its own and come without Brendon being able to hold it back, and Spencer isn’t going to be the reason Brendon fails when he’s trying so hard not to.

He undoes his own pants and doesn’t think Brendon even notices, but there’s definitely a reaction when he slides them together, fisting both of their cocks with a tight, rough grip. Brendon twists against him, panting, and Spencer has to grit his own teeth and press their foreheads together, murmuring, “Wait for me, just a little more.”

Brendon does it again, somehow gets himself under control and goes still, although he’s shaking, harder with every stroke. Luckily it’s not going to take long for Spencer, either, not after this, and he breathes, “Yes,” against Brendon’s red-bitten lips when he finally feels it crest.

He should have expected it, but it’s still a surprise when he lets go of Brendon’s wrists and his legs buckle, nearly taking them both down. Spencer catches him and calculates their chances of making it to the couch, because they haven’t got a prayer of getting all the way to the bedroom. Their pants are still around their ankles, though, tangled up in their shoes, so Spencer settles for easing them both to the ground and cradling Brendon against him, murmuring about nothing at all.

When Brendon finally blinks and makes a noise that means sense has returned, Spencer twists a lock of hair between his fingers and says softly, “I have a blanket on the bed.”

Spencer has plans that involve relieving Brendon of the rest of his clothes and kissing every inch of skin he reveals. Those plans don’t change in the slightest when Brendon tips his head back against Spencer’s shoulder and grins, wrung-out and contented, and says, “I don’t know, it’s a long way.”

Spencer laughs, and ruffles his fingers through the mess he’s made of Brendon’s hair. “Somehow I think we’ll make it.”

***

Spencer has every intention of warning Ryan in advance, but first he hits snooze and then ends up sharing a shower with Brendon to save time, which doesn’t actually save any time at all and in fact leaves them running out the door five minutes late. Spencer texts, _take bden to school pls?_ right as Brendon is pulling on his sneakers.

Brendon says, “Ross,” cheerfully as he slides into the back seat. Ryan snaps his phone closed and turns a glare on Spencer that states clearly, _you’re such a fucker and I hate you._

“Hey,” Spencer greets him airily. “Breakfast?”

“Are you kidding me?” Brendon pipes up from the backseat when they pull into the Dunkin’ Donuts drive-through. “I thought I was the only one who did sugar-laden breakfast runs before nine a.m.”

“Think again,” Ryan answers dryly, rattling off his and Spencer’s usual orders before glancing in the mirror at Brendon. “Do you want anything?”

Brendon’s order is impressive for such a tiny guy, but Spencer’s seen him put away six slices of pizza before, so he’s not all that surprised. When the food comes, Ryan seems to make an executive decision and starts passing everything back to Brendon instead of Spencer. “He has free hands and more room on the seat,” Ryan explains when Spencer quirks an eyebrow.

“Where are your cup holders?” Brendon asks when they pass back two coffees and then try to hand him a bag full of donuts.

“You are the cup holder,” Spencer informs him. “Ryan’s car hates me.”

Ryan snorts, and holds his hand out for coffee. Brendon passes it to Spencer, who passes it to Ryan, just as the light turns green. “We need a new system,” Spencer says, and Ryan just hands him back the coffee and says warningly, “Hold onto that.”

“Who wants streusel?” Brendon asks from the back seat, where he’s laying pastries out on napkins.

Ryan eyes him suspiciously, then says, “They’re called bear claws.”

“I call them alien cow udders,” Brendon replies, passing two bear claws up to Spencer. He turns the second one upside down and waggles it meaningfully. Spencer tries to roll his eyes, but he’s smiling when he takes it, in spite of himself. Ryan gives Spencer a sideways look that says he’s onto him, comes to a stop light and promptly holds out his hand for coffee.

“Whoops, okay, never mind, crisis averted,” Brendon says, oblivious to their silent battle of eyebrow twitches. “I thought I’d gotten cream on your upholstery, but this is old. It looks kinda like…hey, have you christened this car?”

“Brendon,” Spencer says exasperatedly, putting Ryan’s coffee in the cup holder so he can start in on breakfast. “Of course he hasn’t, we’re not sixteen.”

There’s a lull in the conversation where Ryan’s witty, scathing rejoinder should be, and Spencer glances over to see him focused studiously on the road. “Oh my god,” he says into the silence. “You _have._ ”

“Only once!” Ryan says defensively, over the sound of Brendon laughing like a hyena behind them. “Her parents were home, it was a long way to my place…what?”

“You’re such a skeeze,” Spencer informs him, because seriously, the back seat? “I can’t believe you had sex in the back seat of your car. Your car that you’ve only had for two years.”

“You’re one to talk,” Ryan shoots back hotly, making up for lost time with the scathing rejoinders. “At least I don’t like…” He stops dead mid-sentence, jaw shutting with a clack, casting a quick glance up at the rear view mirror.

“I like being tied up and whipped with floggers,” Brendon puts in mildly from the back seat. “And those little paddles shaped like hearts. Not figging, though, because Jesus Christ that stuff itches.”

Spencer’s face heats, but when he glances over at Ryan, there’s a tiny smile trying to creep out at the corners of his mouth.

“Thank you for that,” Ryan says dryly. Brendon just laughs, and passes a handful of donut holes up to Spencer.

“Oh hey, I love this song,” Brendon says suddenly, which startles Spencer, because he hadn’t even realized the radio was on. “Can you turn it up?”

Spencer reaches for the knob, but he doesn’t usually mess with the stereo, and Ryan interjects, “Don’t touch anything, Spencer,” just as Spencer accidentally bumps a button and the sound of mariachi fills the air at an astonishing volume.

“Hates me,” Spencer reiterates, but Brendon is laughing too loudly to hear him. Ryan is pretending to scowl, but when Spencer looks over again, he’s actually smiling.

Ryan gets the radio set back to normal, and makes a slapping motion at Spencer’s hand when he reaches out to helpfully move the coffee out of the way. “Don’t touch anything,” he warns, and Spencer holds both hands up in surrender.

“When I say…” Brendon sings along with the stereo, and after another few seconds, Ryan joins in. Spencer spends the rest of the car ride hiding behind his coffee cup and smiling.

***

They’re in that strange place between round one and the undecided possibility of a round two when Spencer puts his hand around Brendon’s neck and squeezes. Gently, not enough to cut off his breathing or choke him, not even enough to leave a bruise. He just wants to feel it, following an impulse. Brendon doesn’t even twitch, lying quiescent and sated, watching Spencer with mild curiosity.

“I was thinking,” Spencer says, relaxing his grip and rubbing Brendon’s throat with his thumb. “About maybe trying a collar, one time. To see what it’s like.”

Brendon is purring a little low in his throat, sending vibrations buzzing through Spencer’s hand, but when Spencer gets his suggestion out, the sound abruptly stops. Brendon doesn’t seem alarmed or disgusted, but there’s a little crinkle above his brow that hadn’t been there a moment ago. “A collar,” he echoes.

The bag from the shop is still in his nightstand drawer. Spencer pulls it out and unwraps the soft leather, offering it up for Brendon to explore. “We don’t have to go as far as choking or breathplay,” Spencer assures him. He’s done his homework, he knows what he can do safely with a circle of leather around Brendon’s throat, and what he doesn’t want to do even though he probably could.

Brendon turns the collar over in his hands, smoothing his thumb over the leather. “Spencer,” he begins slowly. He hesitates, then looks up, biting his lip. “Collaring is kind of a big deal. It’s a serious thing, I mean. To put a collar on someone, or to accept one.”

His expression reminds Spencer too much of the last wall they ran into, the hesitation before Brendon had agreed to close his eyes and cut himself off. “It’s okay,” he says immediately, reaching out to take the collar. “It was just an idea, we don’t have to.”

Spencer has hold of the collar now, but Brendon isn’t relinquishing it. They have a very brief tug of war, which Brendon wins because Spencer is confused and flustered enough to let go when Brendon refuses to give it up. “We could try it,” Brendon says. He turns the collar around again, offering it back to Spencer. “Put it on me?”

Spencer stops breathing. He starts again after only a second, taking the collar carefully and running the leather through his fingers. “Are you sure?” he asks. He wants to, badly, but the amount of trust in Brendon’s eyes can occasionally be a terrifying thing, and he’s on the brink of that right now.

For answer, Brendon rolls up to his knees and bows his head. It’s another oddly ritualistic moment, and one that Spencer feels, even with all of his research, completely unprepared for. He tilts Brendon’s head back instead, cradles his face and kisses him, coaxing his mouth open gently by massaging his thumbs over the hinge of Brendon’s jaw.

When they resurface, Spencer strokes Brendon’s throat and presses the leather against it. “Tell me if it doesn’t feel right,” he says, and slides the leather tongue through the simple metal buckle. He pulls it tight and tests the fit the way Brendon’s articles on bondage had instructed: two fingers beneath the leather, against Brendon’s skin.

“All right?” he asks, and Brendon nods, his eyes closed. Spencer tugs experimentally, careful not to put too much pressure on Brendon’s throat, and Brendon’s breath catches, stutters slightly.

“It’s fine,” Brendon murmurs, his voice deep and slow, almost like he’s been drugged. Spencer runs his fingers around beneath the collar, testing, and then curls them around the leather and pulls it tighter, constricting.

Brendon moans, and moves with him when Spencer shifts, pulling Brendon in for another kiss. Brendon is pliant in his arms, easily manipulated, and Spencer feels the slow coiling in his stomach, even though it’s too soon for him right now for anything other than kissing.

“What do you want?” Spencer asks, barely a breath whispering over Brendon’s lips. Brendon’s eyes flutter open slowly, eyelids heavy, and Spencer suddenly thinks of a hundred things he wants to do to him, one at a time, for hours on end.

Brendon takes a deep breath, leaning into Spencer’s touch, and murmurs, “I want you in me.”

If Spencer could fuck Brendon right now, he would, but in the meantime he hooks a finger in the front of Brendon’s collar and pulls down, until Brendon folds comfortably over his knees, cheek pressed against the pillow. Spencer spends a few minutes just touching, running his hands over Brendon’s smooth skin and down the knobs of his spine, and then he squirts lube over his fingers and works one slowly into Brendon’s ass.

He doesn’t really have to do this, because it hasn’t been that long, but if Brendon wants Spencer inside him, Spencer can at least give him this much until he gets hard again. He rubs two fingers over Brendon’s prostate, curling gently, and his other hand strokes Brendon’s back, skimming up the line of his spine and skating over the leather encircling his neck, caressing the buckle.

Brendon is completely relaxed, and only sighs when Spencer decides to give him three fingers, even though he doesn’t usually bother. He’s settled into a steady, twisting, push-pull rhythm when Brendon turns his head a little, exhaling to take a deeper breath.

“You can keep going, if you want,” he murmurs. Spencer only pauses for a second before continuing, stroking in and out while he tries to work out what, exactly, Brendon means.

His little finger teases alongside the other three, just a curious flicker, and Brendon pushes back against him, arching further towards the mattress. “Are you sure?” Spencer asks, but Brendon only nods, eyes closed again.

“Here, hang on,” Spencer says, pulling his fingers out to slide a pillow under Brendon’s hips, trying to make him more comfortable. Brendon moans softly when he pushes them back in, barely making a sound. Spencer kisses the high curve of Brendon’s ass, murmurs against his skin, “I’m not really sure how to do this.”

Brendon laughs, shifting slightly to give Spencer a better angle. “A lot of patience, and a lot of lube,” he says with a goofy little smile, and then admits, “That’s all I know, too.”

Spencer closes his eyes for just a second, and then reaches again for the lube. “How are you doing?” he asks, rubbing his little finger in alongside the other three, slowly pushing it inside. “Everything okay?”

“Peachy keen,” Brendon returns, sing-song. Spencer gives him a while to adjust to the stretch of four fingers, and then Brendon says, “I can’t stop thinking about it.”

Spencer twists his fingers, working them in deeper, going slow. “The collar?” he asks. The fingers of his other hand skip towards it almost without thinking, but he twitches them back again, strokes Brendon’s hip instead.

Brendon exhales, almost but not quite a sigh. “Yeah. It’s this…thing, you know? I can’t not be aware of it. It makes it hard to think.”

Spencer stills his fingers, worried, but Brendon shifts back immediately, making a small sound of impatience. “Keep going,” he says, tone halfway to begging. “I didn’t mean I was incapable of making decisions.”

“Are you?” Spencer asks, keeping his voice low and without inflection. He wants to keep doing this, to see how far they can go together, but not at the risk of hurting Brendon. If his thinking is compromised, Spencer is ready to stop right now.

Brendon hums, a low, pleased sound that vibrates back through Spencer’s hand. “Ask me the square root of one hundred and eleven,” he teases.

Spencer narrows his eyes, but takes the opportunity to sink his fingers in all the way to his knuckles, stretching Brendon wide around him. “One hundred and eleven isn’t a square number,” he points out, drawing his fingers out to drizzle more lube over them before pushing in deep again.

Brendon laughs, breathless and giddy. “I know,” he says, and then, “God, that feels amazing.”

Spencer pauses with his fingers as far in as they can go, leaning over to nudge Brendon’s nose up and steal a kiss. Brendon makes that same happy humming purr sound against his mouth, letting Spencer lick behind his teeth and stroke his tongue.

“I could take more,” Brendon says quietly when they break apart, and Spencer presses a kiss to his lips, the tip of his nose, and murmurs, “Let’s take it slow, superman.”

Brendon laughs again, but it fades away almost immediately, his breathing lengthening out into blissful contentment. Spencer keeps touching him, kneading his shoulder and massaging his neck just below the collar, letting his fingers rub over the supple leather.

When he changes the position of his hand slightly and nudges Brendon with the tip of his thumb, the muscles in Brendon’s thigh tense. Spencer watches him carefully as he adds more lube and works his thumb in, one fraction of an inch at a time. Brendon turns his face into the pillow and laughs again, a short strained burst. “I’ve never been a size queen before,” he admits, muffled. “I might be reconsidering.”

Spencer twists and pushes, and is more surprised than anything when Brendon yields and takes him in, nearly all the way past the widest part of his hand. Brendon groans and Spencer holds completely still, letting him adjust. “Are you okay?” he asks after a few minutes, when Brendon’s breathing has mostly settled again.

“Yeah,” Brendon murmurs. “Just…” Spencer pushes his hand forward, just a fraction, and Brendon bites down hard on his lip. “Keep going, keep going, don’t stop,” he babbles, pushing back, and this time when Spencer pushes forward, his entire hand disappears, twisting slowly in all the way to the wrist.

Brendon is panting now, sweat beading on his forehead and dampening his hair, but he isn’t struggling at all, fingers twitching slightly against the bedcovers. Spencer leans down and kisses each bump of his spine, one at a time, slowly until Brendon adjusts. “Still okay?” he asks quietly, flexing his fingers the tiniest bit.

Brendon makes a soft noise at the movement, but he whispers, “Yeah, I’m okay,” and shifts his hips a little, experimentally. Spencer can’t do a lot to stimulate him from this position, but he does his best, rubbing the knuckle of his thumb a little back and forth.

“Spencer,” Brendon breathes, with just a hint of desperation. “Spencer, Spencer.”

Spencer kisses the salty dip at the base of his spine and murmurs, “I know, shh, I know,” tugging the pillow free so he can reach Brendon’s cock. It’s not fully hard, but it doesn’t take long for Spencer to get him there, stroking and circling his thumb over the tip. Brendon’s whining softly in his throat, rocking his hips into Spencer’s hand and back onto his fist, face buried in the pillow.

He squeezes Brendon’s cock, and Brendon just shudders, clenching down around his hand, taking whatever Spencer gives him, and there’s a flash of fierce, smug pride and awe that knocks Spencer’s breath right out of his lungs. He squeezes again and Brendon comes, choking out a cry muffled by the pillow, Spencer’s hand slipping from his body along with the tremors, much more easily than it went in.

Spencer turns Brendon onto his side and spoons up behind him because he’s still shaking, wiping the worst of the mess on his hand off onto a wad of tissues and wrapping both arms around Brendon to hold him close. There are tears on Brendon’s face, but he summons up a tired smile when Spencer combs his hair back and kisses his eyelids. Spencer pulls a blanket over them, careful never to break physical contact, and resettles them more comfortably together.

He’s working the collar’s tongue loose of the buckle when Brendon makes a low noise of protest and pulls his head away. “Leave it,” Brendon says tiredly. “Please? Just for a little while.”

Spencer kisses the side of his neck, right where skin meets leather, and promises, “Anything you want.”

***

Wednesday afternoon, Spencer texts Brendon from work to ask if he wants to meet up on campus later. Spencer has library research to do, and he’s planning on being there for at least two or three hours, by which time Brendon should just be getting out of orchestra.

Brendon texts back _Starbucks_ , so Spencer spends the evening sorting through scientific journals and finally sets out for the café where he and Brendon first met.

He arrives early and hesitates, torn between ordering now and waiting for Brendon to show up, but then he catches sight of the barista fixing drinks and nearly turns right around to walk back out again. It’s too late, though; Jon has spotted him, and gives him a little smile of acknowledgement from behind the counter.

Spencer orders, because hiding out at one of the tables now would make him look like even more of a dick than Jon already thinks he is, and goes to make obligatory small talk while he waits for his drink. “Hey,” he says, leaning on the counter. “I forgot you worked here.”

“Hey yourself,” Jon returns, shaking cinnamon onto someone’s frothy latte. “Getting ready for an all-nighter?”

“No, I just finished up.” Spencer pauses, but Jon is going to find out soon anyway, so he might as well mention it. “I’m actually meeting Brendon.”

“Cool.” Jon slides the drink across the counter, and Spencer steps back so that a tiny girl wrapped up in a scarf longer than she is tall can reach up and grab it. He’s still watching her when Jon says, “Hey, so. Sorry for being kind of a dick the other night.”

Spencer looks over, startled, but Jon looks sincere. Spencer definitely hadn’t been expecting that, so he stumbles over his reply, awkward. “No, it’s okay, I mean. I was kind of a dick too.”

Jon smiles, handing Spencer his drink. “I’m just overprotective sometimes, I guess. Brendon doesn’t always know what’s best for Brendon, you know? But it’s still none of my business.”

Spencer thinks of those flashes he’s seen of Brendon looking insecure or uncertain, and remembers the kick-in-the-stomach reaction he has, nearly every time. “It’s okay,” he says again, turning the cup slowly between his fingers. “You’re being a good friend. I understand.”

Jon grins, shaking the bangs out of his eyes. “Hey, you should come over sometime. We could hang out, all three of us.” Spencer is dubious, but Jon continues, “I’m good for more than great coffee, you know. I can also make a kick-ass sloppy joe lasagna, and I have the Sopranos on DVD.”

Spencer finds himself smiling in spite of his reservations. When he’s not acting suspicious and confrontational, Jon can be a pretty charming guy. “I’ll ask Brendon,” he says.

Jon is about to reply when Spencer’s cell rings. He checks the caller ID and frowns, catching Jon’s eyes apologetically as he flips it open. “Hey, Brendon.”

“Hi.” Brendon’s voice is muted, something not-quite-right prickling the hairs on the back of Spencer’s neck. “I’m sorry, I can’t make it. I had a really…I’m just not in a good place right now, and I don’t think it’s a good idea. For me to come over, I mean. I need…”

“It’s okay,” Spencer interjects quickly, trying to sound soothing and ending up mostly confused. “I’ll see you tomorrow, we can talk then, if you want.” He can see Jon frowning at him out of the corner of his eye, an empty coffee cup held forgotten in his hand.

There’s a jittery silence, and Brendon says, “I think…I think maybe not tomorrow, either. I’m sorry, I just…I’ll call you, okay? Maybe this weekend.”

“Brendon,” Spencer begins, the furrow over his brow growing steadily deeper. “Is everything…?”

“It’s fine,” Brendon says quickly. “I’m just going to take some time off. I’ll call you.”

Spencer opens his mouth to try again, but Brendon says goodbye and hangs up before Spencer can respond. He clicks his phone shut, turning it over in his fingers while he tries to figure out what just happened.

Jon finishes filling up the coffee cup, slides it across the counter and asks, “He canceled?”

“Yeah.” Something still doesn’t feel right. Spencer knows he has no right to demand anything of Brendon, but the idea of just leaving him alone for a few days isn’t sitting well in his stomach.

Jon looks like he’s mulling something over as he slowly wipes down the counter. Without meeting Spencer’s eyes, he says carefully, “Brendon has some shit going on at home. With his parents.”

Spencer puts his phone away and picks up his coffee again. He wants to know, he really does, but he feels like he should be hearing it from Brendon, not secondhand through Jon. “It’s fine. He said he’d call over the weekend.”

“Spencer, wait.” Jon’s voice keeps him in place for a few seconds more, long enough for Jon to sigh and throw the towel back over a hook behind the bar. His eyes are unexpectedly somber when he looks up, and Spencer shifts automatically into a stronger stance. “Remember what I said about Brendon not knowing what he really needed sometimes?”

“He just said he wants to be alone for a while,” Spencer says cautiously. It’s not all that unreasonable a request. If Spencer had shit going on at home, he’d probably feel the same way.

“I didn’t say what he wanted,” Jon replies. “I said what he needed.”

Spencer thinks it over for a long time, long enough for Jon to be called back to make another drink. Then he says, “Thanks,” and goes for a walk on campus to clear his head.

It takes him a little over an hour to finally come to a conclusion, and even then he’s not sure that it’s the right one. He knows how he’d feel, though, and what he’d want if it were him. He thinks Brendon might need to be taken apart sometimes in the same way that Spencer needs to take someone apart; that it’s not just a desire, it’s a way of holding everything together, and right now Brendon is hanging on without any way of letting go.

Once he’s made the decision, it only takes a few seconds to dial Brendon’s number. It rings for so long that Spencer is afraid Brendon won’t answer, but finally he hears the click of a connection and Brendon’s voice saying wearily, “Spencer?”

“You can say no,” Spencer says immediately, the words coming faster than he’d expected in his rush to convince Brendon that this is good for him. “But if you want to come over anyway, I’ll be there. And if you say yes, you have to commit. You have to trust me.”

The silence draws out for a while, and then Brendon says quietly, “Spencer, you can’t fix this.”

Spencer says calmly, “Let me try.”

The pause is longer this time. Then Brendon says softly, “All right.”

Spencer takes a deep breath, says, “I’ll see you in half an hour,” and hangs up.

***

When Brendon shows up, he looks the way Spencer feels; tense, uncertain, and like he’s still not entirely sure this is a good idea. With Brendon it’s painfully obvious what he’s thinking, every emotion flickers right across his face and he keeps his heart in his eyes. Spencer bottles it all up as soon as Brendon pushes open the door, allowing nothing but calm into his voice when he says, “Strip and get on the bed.”

He’s learned to pick up clues from how Brendon moves, the speed and fluidity of his motions. The fact that Brendon manages to take his clothes off more or less gracefully and immediately folds into a kneeling position at the foot of the bed tells Spencer all he needs to know. Strangely, it makes him feel much better, like a weight has lifted from his shoulders and left him clear-headed and capable.

“Head back,” he orders, and when Brendon lifts his chin, Spencer slides the collar around his throat and kisses him lightly. “Mine,” he says, even though he knows he might be pushing it now by staking claims. Thankfully, Brendon’s shoulders relax just a fraction, and he doesn’t protest the word. He’s still tense, though, and Spencer thinks, _I have to push._

He takes off his pants slowly, almost making it a show, watching Brendon’s expression. When he finishes undressing and lies down on the bed, he sees Brendon’s eyes skip up his body, just for a split-second, and then down again. Spencer bites the inside of his lip to keep from smiling, and crosses his arms behind his head. “Get me ready,” he says quietly.

Brendon bends over, spine pulling taut into a curve. His mouth is hot and wet on Spencer’s cock, carefully attentive, and Spencer lets him go down for a few seconds before hooking one finger into Brendon’s collar and saying, “Not there.”

Brendon stops instantly. Spencer pulls until Brendon’s mouth slides free of his cock, and then directs him further down, spreading his legs and raising his knees to communicate his intent. There’s a moment when Brendon just hovers, undecided, and Spencer holds his breath. Then Brendon’s tongue flickers out, light and quick across his skin, and Spencer exhales.

He talks while Brendon rims him, low murmurs of encouragement mixed with dirty talk. It’s not about what he’s actually saying, he knows, just the sound of his voice. It takes Brendon longer to get into it than Spencer expects, but after the first few minutes the muscles in his shoulders have relaxed, and his tongue is curling slick and insistent inside Spencer’s body.

Spencer lets him go until Brendon is all the way inside him, fucking Spencer with his tongue, and then he pulls gently at the collar again. Brendon shifts up onto his knees looking drugged, his hands still curved around Spencer’s spread thighs. Spencer pulls him down without thinking about it first, following his impulse, and fastens his mouth to the pulse beating beneath Brendon’s jaw, just above the warm leather of the collar.

Brendon shudders, grip going lax, and Spencer licks his lips. “Condom in the drawer,” he directs, stretching out slightly on the bed. “And you should probably use lube.”

He thinks he can see Brendon’s hands shake when he rips open the condom, but his movements are practiced and sure when he rolls it on and slicks himself up with lube. Spencer adjusts his position again, trying to make himself comfortable while still making it easy for Brendon, and finally nods his head, satisfied.

“One more thing,” he murmurs, watching Brendon for any flicker of hesitation. “Check the drawer again.”

Brendon’s eyes dart sideways, and he slowly pulls out the bundle of tissue paper. Spencer can’t see inside, but he knows when Brendon gets it open, because his entire body goes suddenly still, eyes fixed.

“You don’t have to put it on,” he says, as Brendon carefully takes out the cock ring and turns it over in his hands. “But if you don’t, this doesn’t go any further.”

He’s finding it hard to breathe again, hoping that he’s making the right calls, that he hasn’t pushed too much or not enough to still be in control. But Brendon finally looks up, meeting his eyes, and wraps the circle of leather around his cock.

Spencer helps him with the buckle, making sure it’s tight enough without pinching, and when he strokes Brendon’s cock, Brendon bites down hard on his lip but doesn’t make a sound. Spencer smiles, just a little. “Fuck me,” he orders, and spreads his legs.

Brendon isn’t huge, but Spencer also hasn’t done this, not for anyone, in a very long time. He breathes through it, grateful for how careful and aware Brendon is, and also how thorough he was in getting Spencer stretched and wet with his tongue.

“Do it,” he murmurs when Brendon is all the way inside, and there’s barely a second of hesitation before Brendon shifts, out and in, and Spencer nearly bites his tongue.

He shoves the sensation aside, focuses on Brendon’s breathing and his reactions, and waits for the right moment to play his trump card. When they’ve finally settled into a rhythm, comfortable enough to move together, Spencer puts it all on the table and says, “Stop.”

Brendon freezes instantly. He doesn’t move, though, so Spencer strokes the soft hair turning damp behind his ear, reassuring without words. Then he smiles a little, and says, “Start.”

He can feel Brendon get it, the shock of understanding, but the thrusts are still more or less controlled when they start up again, deep and steady. Spencer lets it continue for a minute or so before speaking up again, keeping his voice perfectly level. “Slower.”

Brendon is shaking by the time Spencer lets him speed up again, the muscles in his forearms corded. Spencer keeps rewarding him with touches, fingers trailing over his neck and digging into his shoulders, pinching and twisting his nipples, tugging lightly on his hair when Brendon whimpers. He turns his head to kiss Brendon’s wrist, stops him again and forces him to hold still until the trembling eases. Then they start again. And stop. And start.

It’s getting to the point that even Spencer’s control is fraying, with Brendon’s cock driving into him but never getting him close enough, never being allowed enough friction to come. He can’t push this longer than half an hour anyway, twenty minutes to be safe, so when Brendon speeds up the next time at his command, he drags his fingernails slowly down Brendon’s chest until he breaks and starts begging.

“What do you want?” Spencer asks, wrapping his hand in Brendon’s hair and pulling his head back, hard enough to make his eyes water.

“You,” Brendon answers, hips still rolling helplessly even without full range of movement, sending tiny shocks up Spencer’s spine with each jab against his prostate. “To make you come.”

Spencer’s never come from just this, but he’s worked up enough now that it’s not an impossibility, and he trusts Brendon to get him there. He relaxes his grip on Brendon’s hair, stroking the sweaty strands back into place, and says, “Yes.”

Brendon’s rhythm falters, and Spencer answers the question in his eyes by shaking his head. “No hands,” he says, and Brendon shifts forward, changing the angle to something that makes stars burst behind Spencer’s eyes, shallow and taunting.

“Fuck,” Spencer says involuntarily, and then clamps down hard on his control, putting himself back in charge. He hooks his fingers into Brendon’s collar again, runs them around the inside of the leather band and says in a low voice, “The next time we do this, I’m going to use anal beads, so you can feel them rolling around every time you move and remember what it’s like to have something inside you, fucking you while you fuck me.”

Brendon gasps, arms shaking, and begs, “Spencer, Spence.”

Spencer allows himself to feel it then, crests and lets Brendon bring him crashing down. If it had been intense before, Brendon must be desperate now; his entire body is rigid when Spencer comes, clenching down around Brendon’s cock.

“Please,” he whispers through the aftershocks of Spencer’s orgasm. “Spencer, please.”

Spencer drifts away from the haze of sensation and rolls his neck out, sated and indulgent. “Come here,” he murmurs, only twitching a little as Brendon pulls out and moves over him. Spencer unbuckles the cock ring carefully, rolling off the condom, and sees Brendon shaking with the effort of holding back every time Spencer’s hands come into contact with his cock.

“You’ve been so good,” Spencer says softly. He flicks his tongue out for just a taste, feeling Brendon flinch but somehow hold on, and says, “You can come now.”

Brendon comes almost before Spencer takes him into his mouth, voice echoing off the walls as liquid floods over Spencer’s tongue. Spencer catches him when he folds, wrapping him up and easing him onto the bed, arms tight across Brendon’s chest.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs. “It’s okay.”

Brendon stays still until his breathing calms down, and then he starts shivering. Spencer pulls him into a sitting position, fighting his own lethargy to keep them both going. “Up,” he orders gently. “Come on, into the shower.”

He goes down on Brendon again in the shower. Brendon isn’t hard, but Spencer mouths him anyway, licking and sucking while Brendon tips his head back into the spray and sighs. When they’re both clean, Spencer gives Brendon his spare pair of pajama pants and towels him off, rubbing the fluffy terrycloth over Brendon’s wet hair.

“Bed,” Spencer orders when they’re both dry, manhandling Brendon down onto his stomach. “You can stay the night, right?” he asks, hunting around in the shopping bags on the floor until he finds what he’s looking for. “Do you need me to set an alarm?”

Brendon shakes his head, eyes already closed. “Class in the afternoon,” he answers tiredly, and then, “Oh, god,” when Spencer starts working the almond-scented massage oil into his shoulders with strong hands.

“Relax,” Spencer says, and Brendon responds with a low groan. Spencer moves from Brendon’s shoulders to his neck, and Brendon makes a little noise of complaint when Spencer unbuckles the collar, but doesn’t otherwise protest.

By the time Spencer has worked his way down Brendon’s back to the dip and swell of his ass, stopping to kiss every single mark and bruise he finds along the way, Brendon is only half-conscious and utterly content. He stirs slightly when Spencer finishes taking off the collar, but Spencer just kisses the back of his neck and says, “You don’t need this, I’m right here.”

Brendon makes a soft sound of agreement and curls around Spencer when he pulls up the blanket, face tucked into the curve of Spencer’s neck. Spencer thinks Brendon might be asleep before he even reaches to turn off the light.

***

Spencer wakes up late and calls in sick to work, texting Ryan to let him know he doesn’t need a ride. Ryan will undoubtedly call him later to find out what’s going on, but for now at least, Spencer has a few hours of reprieve.

Brendon is still out like a light. Spencer does his usual morning stuff, checking his e-mail and reading the _New York Times_ online, and then decides to make pancakes. He miraculously has all of the basic ingredients, and after a quick look online to find a suitable recipe, he starts cooking.

Brendon wanders out just as Spencer is pouring the second batch into the skillet, glasses on and hair sticking up in unruly tufts. He’s still wearing Spencer’s pajama pants, and the legs are long enough that he has to hike them up or trip over them when he takes a step. He wiggles his toes when Spencer glances down at the cuffs, and then smiles and steals Spencer’s coffee right out of his hand.

Spencer rolls his eyes, acting put-upon, but Brendon doesn’t seem the least bit repentant. “Was this supposed to be breakfast in bed?” he asks, taking another sip from Spencer’s mug and unsuccessfully trying to hide a grin behind the rim. “Because I can go back.”

“I gave you my coffee, you can get your own damn food,” Spencer shoots back, but he’s smiling, and utterly defenseless against the puppy dog eyes Brendon immediately pulls out in answer.

“Gave,” Brendon says with a little sniff, and moves in on the pancakes. He’s not moving stiffly, so Spencer thinks the massage last night probably undid any damage caused by Spencer’s winding him up so tight, and he’s grateful that Brendon stayed awake for long enough to be pampered.

Brendon must sense Spencer watching him, because after a few minutes – Spencer flips the pancakes, and gets out another plate to stack them on – Brendon turns around and says, “Thanks. For last night.”

Spencer isn’t sure what the right response is to this, if there is one. Finally he says, “Anytime,” and hopes that Brendon understands how much he means it.

Brendon rolls his pancake up and dips it into a puddle of syrup, no longer meeting Spencer’s eyes. “I was thinking,” he says slowly, pushing syrup around on the plate. “Considering last night, I mean. I don’t think you actually need me anymore.”

Spencer’s heart stops in his chest, then lurches painfully against his rib cage. “Did I do something?” he asks blankly. His mind rushes through the previous night, everything they’d done, everything he’d said, everything Brendon had shown in reaction. There are so many things he could have done wrong, but they’d felt right at the time. He hadn’t doubted himself before now.

“No,” Brendon answers, looking startled. “I just mean, I don’t think I have anything left to teach you. Seriously, Spence.” He laughs, and it sounds a little shaky, but not false. “You picked up enough from my mood to know what I needed, without me ever saying a word. When _I_ didn’t even know.”

He’s hiding again, eyes fixed on his plate. Spencer waits a few beats, trying to come up with something to say, and finally asks, “You want to break it off?”

“I’m just saying,” Brendon says awkwardly, one bare shoulder lifting in a half-shrug. “You don’t need me anymore.”

Spencer still has no idea how he’s supposed to react to this, but all he can think, through the buzz in his ears, is that he still does need Brendon. Not just for sex, but for this: for mornings after, for stealing his coffee. For tripping over borrowed pajama pants. For more nights like last one, shower and massage included.

“Hey,” he says, and Brendon looks up to meet his eyes. “Do you want to go to dinner with me tomorrow night?”

Brendon blinks. Then he smiles, slowly, and Spencer’s heart skips a few beats racing to catch up for lost time. “I have to warn you,” Brendon says, “I don’t put out on the first date.”

Spencer just smiles. “That’s fine,” he promises. “You’re worth waiting for.”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic of] Tell Me to Stop](https://archiveofourown.org/works/304623) by [klb](https://archiveofourown.org/users/klb/pseuds/klb)




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